


immemorial (anachronism, book two)

by chellethewriter



Series: the chasm saga [2]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F, Following tags contain spoilers, Possession, Post-Canon, Protective Catra, Space Adventures!, adora and catra being cute and domestic!, adora is kinda having a breakdown this whole fic but it's fine, chasm is gone ahahahah...unless?, definitely read the first book first!!!, i'll add more tags as things progress okay, includes illustrations, magic!, magical potions, married Adora and Catra, sleep deprivation is kinda a major theme here, this fic will hurt you and i'm sorry, worldbuilding!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28511895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellethewriter/pseuds/chellethewriter
Summary: All should be well for Adora and Catra. They have successfully escaped from that netherworld between dimensions—defeated the cruel magical entity known as Chasm, and returned Angella to her family. And they are together now, back on Etheria. Safe from Chasm in a universe where peace still reigns.But regardless of how she tries, or how Catra attempts to soothe her, Adora cannot shake her unease. Images of Chasm and wounded loved ones continue to torture Adora in vivid nightmares, nightmares that cannot be treated or willed away. Nightmares that force Adora to wonder whether Chasm dealt Adora some kind of lifelong curse, back before her escape from Chasm's dreamworld.And worst of all, even with a dimension of separation between them...Adora cannot quell the fear that Chasm might someday return. Return, and again seek She-Ra's power for herself.(as promised, the angsty sequel toanachronism)
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: the chasm saga [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081277
Comments: 478
Kudos: 765





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi all! welcome back to weekly updates of anachronism (though in this case, the title is _immemorial_ ). You're in for a wild ride involving magic, space adventures, lots of additional worldbuilding, and—of course—catradora being married! This fic will be pretty different than its predecessor, but hopefully you'll like it just as much! I've written about 60k words so far so hopefully it's finished in its entirety before break ends and is ready to be edited. 
> 
> THAT BEING SAID....If you want to read this fic, you really, really, **really, need to read[anachronism](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25209532/chapters/69453045)** first! Otherwise, you'll have no clue what's going on. it's definitely a fun fic to read if you like time travel and portal shenanigans and maybe, just maybe, a little dark magic mixed in there. 
> 
> In other news, I'm also trying something new here in that I'm forcing myself to draw. That means some of these chapters might have some accompanying artwork by me. However, I hate my artwork with a passion so if you'd like to create something of your own, please just let me know, as always. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy! Please please please leave a comment or kudos! I've been sick with a stomach bug all week and I'd really appreciate some feedback to read as a distraction.

Laughter slices across Adora’s ears—sharper, crueler than the biting edge of a knife. It sounds like a woman’s laugh, at first. But no...it’s not. It’s _his_ laugh, monstrous and so damned amused. Adora positively burns with the need to silence it. She can’t bear the thought of him winning, of him smiling as he tears her future from her grasp—

And that’s when she sees him there. Right there, in front of her. Smiling in that snide, arrogant way he always did, right until the very end. Right until She-Ra blasted him from existence.

But that was another time. Another _timeline_. A safer, happier one. One that Adora will never see again.

Horde Prime stands above her, on a dais. Mocking her, challenging her. Multitudes of green eyes blinking, staring, _taunting_. And there’s something Adora needs to do. Something she needs to find, and fix—

With a cry, she lunges forward, jumping clear over the stairs, her feet smashing fissures into the floor as she crashes into metal. Her knuckles stretch white as she twists her fingers into his robe, pulling, yanking him within reach of her weapons and fists and fury—

“Her body,” Adora hisses, nearly spitting the words into his face. “Where—is—her—body?”

And vaguely, she knows that she doesn’t sound like herself. Not like this; so seething, so fractured.

But there it is again—that horrible, sickening, remorseless laugh. She wants to tear out those vocal cords. She wants….she _wants—_

But there’s nothing left to want.

She doesn’t wait for an answer this time. Adora already knows—she knows that Catra is gone. Fully, completely, irrevocably gone. There’s no point, no point to anything at all. There’s only this, this fleeting, sick-sweet taste of revenge—no more substantial than a lone star in a blank sky.

And it’s right there, after all. Her sword. Already clutched tightly in her free hand. But it shakes. She can’t stop shaking—

With another cry, she drives it forward. Her eyes scrunch shut as she embeds it deep into Horde Prime’s chest, pinning him to the nearest solid surface with the impaled tip of her blade. She refuses to look. It’s enough to know. It’s enough to know that she caused him some measure of pain.

_Isn’t it?_

But then there’s that laugh again. Or...something like it. High and amused and something like Horde Prime’s, but somehow entirely not. A woman’s laugh. Like the one Adora heard, at first, but quickly dismissed.

Her eyes still shut, Adora feels hands curl around her shoulders. She jolts in fear, in surprise, as something leans close, a mouth breathing ice-cold air into her ear—

“One down...” the voice whispers eagerly, and it’s like Adora can _hear_ the smile creeping across the woman’s face. “...and a whole universe to go.”

Adora knows that voice. She can’t forget. She could never—

Adora thrashes out of that foreign grasp and, with a terrified gasp, her eyes finally tear open—

But it’s not….it’s not _him_. She doesn’t see what she expects when she opens her eyes. She doesn’t see Horde Prime impaled upon her sword, unnatural green blood seeping from his wounds. She sees something else entirely. _Someone_ else.

Catra. It’s Catra, right there, chest heaving as she struggles to breathe. She-Ra’s glowing sword piercing through her stomach, the blade surrounded by a growing pool of dark red. Her blue-yellow eyes rolling backward and tears tracking down her cheeks—

But. It can’t be Catra. That was Horde Prime. It was Horde Prime, not Catra. Adora saw that. She saw _him_ —

But Catra is right there, dying from wounds inflicted by Adora’s sword.

“No,” Adora chokes out, staggering backward. The sword falls out of her hand, out of Catra’s body. And Adora just can’t stop shaking her head, pulling furiously at her own hair as though she might wrench herself from her own disbelief. “No, no, no, no—!”

Catra immediately falls to the floor, blood spilling onto the ground, and Adora collapses with her. Desperately, Adora tries to crawl to her. Tries to reach her. Heal her. She can fix this, she can, that’s the whole point of She-Ra...but dammit, Catra just gets farther away with every inch that Adora crawls—

“...A-Adora—” Catra rasps, a bloodied hand outstretched. And she needs Adora. Catra _needs_ her—

Adora screams in frustration, still trying to crawl. To drag herself across the cold floor. But it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. The floor keeps extending—the space between Catra and Adora widening by the second, rapidly unfolding into an ocean of insurmountable darkness,

And, of course, someone’s still laughing at her. Laughing like nothing could be funnier than this: Adora’s frantic helplessness, her repeated failures to reach Catra, even from a hair’s breadth away.

“...Adora…”

Why can’t Adora do this? Why can’t she reach Catra?

“Adora!”

She can’t give up. She can’t. Catra is there, right there. Just a little farther—

“Princess Adora!”

With a gasp, Adora shoots to her feet, knocking a chair to the ground with an unholy clatter. There’s someone there, beside Adora, hands curled around her shoulders—

She fumbles for her sword, and the weapon takes less than a second to materialize in her hand. On instinct, her arm flies out, the blade poised in a deadly, determined grip as she points it at whoever snuck up on her—

There’s a squeal of fright, and a figure stumbles back and tumbles gracelessly to the floor.

“Please _don’t_ stab me!” a familiar voice begs, cowering slightly. “I’m only trying to help!”

A bead of sweat trickles down Adora’s forehead as her eyes sweep the room. Only slowly does she remember and recognize where she is—and who shook her awake.

Adora is surrounded by books on all sides. Cases upon cases of them, each of them neatly kept and carefully organized. Her thighs bruise against the edge of a wooden table, one covered with papers and scrolls and books thrown open upon their spines.

It’s George and Lance’s library, she realizes. The massive library owned by Bow’s fathers. One that is filled, in particular, with infinite pages and artifacts from the First Ones, or other ancient Etherian cultures. Subjects that Adora has been somewhat obsessed with researching in recent days, trying to find…well…

Something to make it all make sense.

She must have drifted off here, reading at the table. It’s hardly surprising given Adora’s recent circumstances, or the exhausting number of hours she’s spent poring over these old books. But falling asleep was hardly her intention.

Frankly, Adora has been trying to avoid sleep entirely. It sounds stupid, she knows, but there isn’t much of a choice. Sleep is unbearable, it has been for months. And no one is listening to her despite the fact that there’s a clear _solution_ —

Though she didn’t expect anyone to come looking for her. Or really, she _hoped_ no one would come looking for her _._

“Sorry, Cleo,” Adora sighs, lowering her sword from the neck of the Bright Moon guard who Adora has come to know as her unwanted personal babysitter. “You startled me, is all.”

Adora dematerializes the sword and outstretches a hand, offering to help Cleo to her feet. Cleo’s uniform is all askew, her face covered by the long black horse hairs that normally flow from the back of her helmet, her own red hair all mussed up beneath the helmet itself.

“It’s alright,” says Cleo, all-too-eager to forgive as she grasps onto Adora’s hand.

Easily, Adora lifts Cleo back to her feet, and mere moments pass before Cleo is back to her smiling, overexcited self. Freckled cheeks spread into a childlike grin, wide eyes glinting. “I mean—just wait until I tell my friends that I was almost stabbed by She-Ra! They’ll be so impressed.”

_“She’s a trainee,”_ Glimmer told Adora, back when Cleo was first assigned to guard Adora. “ _And guarding She-Ra is pretty much the easiest job I can give her right now.”_

That was a year ago. Back then, Adora didn’t mind Cleo’s immaturity so much. They barely spoke, barely interacted. But no one expected things to change so quickly. Suddenly, Cleo has found herself with much more to do. And Adora has discovered many reasons to resent Cleo’s presence.

Adora wonders what else Cleo tells her friends. Does she tell them how She-Ra is now a nervous wreck, slowly losing her mind and unable to sleep?

“Uh-huh,” replies Adora, turning around to set the toppled chair upright too. “And what are you doing here, exactly? I mean, no offense, but I left early to avoid being—”

“Is this where you always go when you run off?” Cleo blurts, open-mouthed as she glances between the wide rows of bookcases. Cleo’s hand extends to touch one of the books sprawled across the table. “I mean, it’s cool and all, but why are you spending so much time in an abandoned library?”

Adora drags the book out of Cleo’s reach and slams it shut.

“It’s not abandoned,” Adora says, and pointedly begins searching for the book’s place on the shelves. “This library belongs to King Bow’s fathers—they’ve just been on an archeological dig for the past couple years. They asked Bow to look after it while they’re gone but, obviously, he has a whole kingdom to help run, so I offered—”

Adora cuts herself off as she notices that Cleo isn’t really listening. Instead, her eyes are affixed to the glow of a tracker pad—the tips of Cleo’s fingers tapping against the screen.

Adora snaps her fingers in front of Cleo’s face, causing her to start—and forcing Cleo to return her attention to Adora’s face.

“How’d you find me, anyway?” Adora demands.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Cleo says with a wave of her hand. “Catra told me.”

Tense annoyance edges between Adora’s shoulder blades. “... _Catra_ told you?”

Adora thought, at least, that Catra had enough respect for Adora’s judgment that she wouldn’t send guards after her. That’s why she leaves a note for Catra every morning—one that very clearly describes where Adora will be, and when she’ll be back. And sure, sometimes she returns later than she originally planned, but Adora really can’t afford to lose her train of thought in her research—

The point is...Catra is supposed to trust Adora. And in turn, Adora is supposed to trust Catra to _not_ send the Bright Moon guards after her.

Cleo sighs. “She knew you’d be mad.”

Adora gives a sigh of her own, arms crossing over her chest. “I’m not mad. I’m just…” Another sigh. “Surprised, I guess.”

It’s a lie. But even Adora recognizes that Cleo is just doing her job, and doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of Adora’s annoyance. Because, really, it’s Catra that she’s annoyed with. And Glimmer. And her own damn brain.

And, of course, there’s one person that Adora is _most_ furious at. But she’s beyond the reach of Adora’s fury at the moment.

“Catra said that normally she’d let you be,” Cleo continues, “but it’s just...you’ve been out for so long, and you’re really late to some sort of important meeting in Bright Moon, and everyone was getting worried—”

Wait. Late to _what_?

Adora glances at the nearby windows and curses when she sees the blood orange skies beyond. When did it get so dark outside? Last Adora recalls, morning had just crested the horizon. But now it’s like this, with the bookcases casting long shadows and the sun dipping below the treeline…

Cleo must be right. Adora was scheduled to attend some sort of intergalactic conference call _thing_ this afternoon. And if the sunset outside is any indication, that meeting has likely already started.

Which means that Adora has _once again_ lost track of time.

Adora pinches the bridge of her nose. Truthfully, it’s no wonder why Catra sent someone after her. Adora promised to stay in the library for only a short time. It's likely been hours since she was supposed to be back in Bright Moon.

“I’m contacting Queen Glimmer right now,” Cleo says, all assurance, and Adora hears the characteristic beeps of tracker pad feedback. “She’s going to teleport you back–”

“Swift Wind is outside,” Adora says. “If she’s not picking up, I can fly him back—”

Cleo’s eyes narrow. She lowers the tracker pad slightly to shoot Adora an accusing look. “Wait. Catra said you walked here.”

“It was a tight schedule today,” Adora insists. “There wasn’t enough time to walk—”

“Queen Glimmer said you’re not permitted to ride any horses while you’re…”

Cleo trails off. Adora glares at her, hard.

“While I’m what?” Adora demands.

Cleo hesitates.

“While you’re...recovering,” Cleo decides.

Adora raises an eyebrow, sure that _recovering_ is a euphemism for something.

“I’m calling the Queen,” Cleo tells her. “She’ll teleport you, me, and Swift Wind.” Cleo then scans Adora from head to shoe—taking in the sight of her unkempt hair and crumpled clothes. “You really should try to take better care of yourself, Adora. We’re only trying to help you.”

Adora nearly laughs because, _right_ , everyone is trying to help her.

If only she could stop letting them down.

* * *

“—lost three shipments of extremely valuable metal ore. Which, I might add, is the fifth time we’ve had our shipping lanes attacked in the last two lunar cycles.”

Catra’s eyes remain trained on the chair to her left, rather than the screen projected at the center of the round conference table. It’s an empty chair—one that, according to the promises made by its usual occupant, should have been filled an hour ago.

Still without looking at the portly figure on that screen—namely, ambassador Atric of the Planet Histrion—Catra asks, “Are you sure it’s not just pirates? Recent data shows that there’s been an uptick in independent piracy in your star system.”

“Positive,” Atric says fiercely. “Our security measures are far too advanced for the paltry efforts of pirates. No. This had to be Crion and their advanced weaponry—purposely sabotaging our trade so we’ll have no means to defend ourselves when they attack our planet.”

Crion. Histrion’s neighboring planet—and favorite scapegoat. No matter what goes wrong, Histrion always finds a way to blame Crion. And somehow, they always make it Etheria’s problem along the way.

(Or, more specifically, they make it She-Ra’s problem. Which makes it Catra, Glimmer, and Bow’s problem by extension).

“That’s a very serious accusation to make,” Bow remarks. “There hasn’t been an interplanetary war in over five years.”

“I’m aware,” says the ambassador—too curtly for Catra’s liking. “But I’m certain it’s inevitable. Crion has been eyeing our territory for centuries—”

“—but they’ve never acted on it,” Glimmer interjects. Her eyebrow raises skeptically at Atric. “And they especially haven’t acted on it during the last two times you contacted us.”

“Well, no,” says the ambassador somewhat sheepishly. “But like I said, it’s only a matter of time.”

The room descends into awkward silence. Glimmer, Bow, and Catra exchange dubious glances, collectively certain that the ambassador is wrong this time too. Just like all the times before.

Sure, Histrion and Crion have a long-standing rivalry—but so do a lot of planets in the universe. And Catra has traveled to Crion in the past—met the people there. She doubts they want to be the planet to shatter the first and only period of widespread universal peace.

“I understand your hesitance to believe me,” Atric continues. “But my people are legitimately concerned. We would feel much safer if…”

The ambassador trails off. Catra’s eyes narrow at him, certain that she’s going to hate his suggestion.

“You’d feel much safer if _what_?”

“If…” the ambassador says slowly, “She-Ra would travel to Histrion and lend her protection to our shipping lanes, for the time being.”

“No,” snaps Catra, instantly. “Out of the question.”

“It would only be for a week or two,” Atric insists. “Not a month, like last time—”

“I said _no_ —”

“It would demonstrate to Crion that She-Ra is on our side and ready to defend us should they continue their devious efforts—”

“It would be a waste of time for everyone,” hisses Catra, crossing her arms as she continues staring at the empty chair adjacent to her own. “Especially for Adora. Which is her _actual_ name.”

“What Catra is trying to say,” Bow interrupts smoothly, “is that Adora is...dealing with some personal matters on Etheria at the moment. And she’s really not in a position to leave on an intergalactic mission right now.”

“From rumors I’ve heard,” Atric says, “She-Ra has not left Etheria in months. How much longer can her ‘personal matters’ possibly take?”

At this point, Catra’s had just about enough of the ambassador. She reaches forward, prepared to hang up the call—but Glimmer quite literally blocks her hand. Glimmer’s eyes flicker warningly at Catra before they return to the ambassador.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Glimmer asks. “What rumors?”

Atric gives a short huff. “Planetary leaders do talk, you know. And from what I’ve heard, She-Ra has refused nearly every request made of her in the last few months. Everything from charitable appearances, disposal of dangerous magical artifacts, diplomatic affairs...”

Atric gestures furiously at what Catra can only assume to be his own screen.

“Even now, after I was _promised_ a meeting with She-Ra, she’s entirely absent.”

Atric’s features twist with distaste, and Catra suspects that, through the screen, he’s staring at _her_ in particular—at Catra, the current obstacle to getting She-Ra’s help.

Atric adds, “I would much prefer to negotiate with She-Ra myself, rather than…” He spends an obnoxiously long time searching for a correct word, then ultimately settles on, “...her allies?”

“Wife,” Catra says with some outrage—and smugness. “I’m She-Ra’s wife. So you can be confident that my answer will be the same as hers.”

Or at least that would have been consistently true, half a year ago...but now she has her doubts. Catra knows that things have changed. That _Adora_ has changed.

Atric’s lips settle into a thin line. “I was promised a meeting with She-Ra. And I have little interest in speaking with anyone else.”

“Why?” demands Catra, glaring at Atric through the screen. “So you can try to guilt her into helping y—?”

“Adora is on her way here as we speak,” Bow interrupts loudly. “I take full responsibility for the delay. She was doing me a favor and got caught up on the way back—”

A slight lie, Catra notes, but a harmless one intended to keep the ambassador calm. She knows better than anyone that Adora hasn't been visiting the library as a favor to Bow, but rather, as a symptom of a recent obsession.

Atric raises an accusing eyebrow. “So She-Ra can do favors for the King of Bright Moon, but not for the entire planet of Histrion?”

_Whoops_ , Catra thinks. That backfired.

"Well, no. I mean. That’s not what I meant—”

Just as Catra again reaches for the button that will forcibly end the call, she finds herself distracted by a familiar sound—a notification from Glimmer’s tracker pad. One that causes Glimmer’s eyebrows to pull together and a sigh to puff past her lips.

Catra and Glimmer’s eyes meet readily. A silent conversation passes between their connected gazes. An annoyed, grumbling one that ends only when Catra jerks her head, motioning for Glimmer to leave the room, and with a small nod, Glimmer obliges—teleporting away in a flash of pink light.

“And what about this?” Catra hears Atric shriek. “The Queen of Bright Moon abandons the meeting as well? How many more insults must I endure—”

“Calm yourself,” Catra snaps. “You want to talk to She-Ra? Then sit tight and be quiet. Glimmer’s fetching her for you right now.”

And sure enough, within the next five seconds, another flash of bright light teleports a small party of new arrivals into the conference room: Cleo, Adora's personal bodyguard. Swift Wind, She-Ra’s steed. And, finally, Adora—the legendary warrior herself—who sways a bit as she’s teleported into place.

Though Adora doesn’t look like a ‘legendary warrior’ at the moment. Her hair appears half-pulled out of a ponytail, and her clothes are noticeably wrinkled, like she slept in them—which is, of course, an impossibility, given Adora’s circumstances.

Most noticeable of all are the bruise-dark circles around Adora’s eyes. Bruise-dark, yes, but not bruises at all. If they were bruises, Catra could strike back against whoever inflicted them. But those circles are unmistakable evidence of a far more complicated issue: the persistent sleep problems that have tortured Adora for months.

There’s a large book folded between Adora’s arms, clutched tightly. Something that she likely took from the library, and will probably add to an ever-growing stack of books in their bedroom.

“H-hi ambassador Atric!” Adora greets too-loudly, waving as she staggers toward her usual chair: the empty one, beside Catra. “Sorry for the delay. I got held up by—”

Her words are interrupted by a yelp. Specifically, Adora’s yelp as she trips over a chair leg and flails toward the ground. Luck and cat-like reflexes are all that save Adora, as Catra barely manages to grab onto Adora's sleeve in time. Her grasp suspends Adora enough to keep her from hitting the floor. 

Though Catra doesn’t manage to rescue the book. It falls, clattering loudly—causing Adora to jump noticeably at the sound. Briefly, Catra peers at the title and reads, _The Symbolic Artistry of the First Ones_.

Yup, Catra thinks. Definitely another one for the pile.

Adora huffs out, “Sorry,” then scrambles to her feet—tearing her sleeve out of Catra’s grip in the process. She scoops the book off the floor like it’s a valued treasure that she’s dropped, rather than a dusty old tome.

Catra raises an eyebrow, watching as Adora flops into her chair and neatly folds both hands on the table in front of her, the book placed face-down at her side. It’s an attempt to appear calm and put-together, Catra is sure. But the trembling of Adora’s hands reveals otherwise.

Adora turns to the projection of Ambassador Atric. Her smile is brittle.

“Now,” Adora says, all forced interest. “What did you want to talk about?”

* * *

Catra takes Adora’s hand as Atric makes his plea.

Catra can tell that Adora wants to accept—that she wants to feel useful for the first time in many months.

Because, really, Atric is right about only one thing: that She-Ra has not left Etheria in nearly half a year. Every call they’ve received, every request, Adora has been asked to decline.

Well. _‘Asked’_ might be the wrong word. They’ve _begged_ Adora not to accept. Begged, again and again. Multiple times a week. Sometimes multiple times a day.

It’s resulted in several arguments. Between only Adora and Catra, at first. Then Adora and Glimmer. And then Adora and Bow. And now between Adora and everyone she knows, really.

_“You’re in no state to be traveling off-planet,_ ” they’ve kept telling her, much to Adora’s fury. But Catra refuses to hear counterarguments. Any stranger can see that Adora isn’t well, and worse, amidst her exhaustion, Adora hasn’t been able to consistently transform into She-Ra.

It’s become an intense fear of Catra’s in recent days: the idea that some random stranger will try to kill She-Ra, just to say they did. What wannabe tyrant wouldn’t want those bragging rights—to say that they defeated She-Ra, savior of the universe?

Adora is in no state to defend herself from anyone, or anything. And sending Adora off-planet—particularly into potential interplanetary conflicts—seems like a surefire way to invite that sort of situation.

“ _I can’t just do nothing forever_ ,” Adora keeps arguing, like it might change Catra’s mind.

“ _It’s not forever_ ,” Catra always replies. “ _Just until we figure this thing out_.”

And then, Catra always finds herself brokenhearted by the look on Adora’s face—the crumbling of her features when she asks, “ _But what if we never do?_ ”

When Atric asks She-Ra to travel to Histrion, Adora looks at Catra. Her eyes are hesitant, asking. She wants to do this. She wants to help the people of Histrion, even if Ambassador Atric is likely just being paranoid. She wants to help _someone._

Adora just wants to be seen as useful. Catra knows that.

But truthfully, despite how much she wants Adora to be happy, Catra couldn’t care less about Adora being perceived as ‘useful.’ Adora needs to help herself before she can help anyone else. And so far, taking care of herself has proven a challenge.

Not, of course, that it’s really Adora’s fault. Catra knows that too, and does her best to remember it.

Adora sees the subtle shaking of Catra’s head. _Don’t_ , Catra’s eyes say. _Not this time._ They exchange a silent conversation—Adora, pleading. Catra, refusing. 

Finally, Adora’s jaw clenches. She’s convinced. Disappointed, but convinced.

With a sigh, Adora turns back to Ambassador Atric and says, “I’m sorry but…” Another sigh, deeper this time. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you right now.”

Catra strokes her thumb along Adora’s palm, trying to apologize. She doesn’t find joy in this—in micromanaging Adora. Normally, she’d take far more pleasure in watching Adora trounce some space pirates—space pirates like the ones that probably attacked Histrion’s shipping lanes. But Adora needs rest, more than anything else. And it kills Catra, seeing her strung out this way.

Ambassador Atric begins blathering his outrage. Catra doesn’t want Adora feeling worse than she likely already does, so she reaches out and finally, _finally_ hangs up the call.

Once the screen goes dark, Adora’s chair scrapes against the floor. She stands and heads to the door without a word, shooting some sort of pointed glare at Glimmer as she goes. Though Glimmer pretends not to notice.

“You headed back to our room?” Catra calls, craning her neck to see Adora’s face.

Adora nods but doesn’t say anything else.

“Okay,” Catra says. “I’ll see you there in a little bit, alright?”

Again, Adora nods, but still refuses to reply. Her feet seem to drag as she exits the room. Cleo follows close behind—basically breathing down Adora’s neck in the way that Catra _knows_ Adora hates. And then they’re both gone, stomping down the corridor, leaving only Swift Wind, Glimmer, Catra, and Bow sitting around the conference table.

“Well,” Bow says with exaggerated brightness, too-obviously trying to stay optimistic, “she took that better than usual!”

“Right,” replies Catra, sarcastic. “Because the only thing better than Adora being angry is Adora being resigned.”

Glimmer shoots a glare at Swift Wind. “Why are you even here?”

Swift Wind opens his mouth to speak, but Glimmer holds up a hand to stop him. “Wait. Nevermind. Let me guess—Adora convinced you to give her a ride, even though we explicitly told you _not_ to let her?”

Swift Wind pouts. “She bribed me with sugar cubes.”

“We _also_ bribed you with sugar cubes,” Catra reminds him. “And you promised us you wouldn’t let her go flying.”

“What can I say?” Swift Wind says with a shrug. “I’m loyal to only my most recent sugar cube.”

Glimmer groans and drops her head onto the tabletop. “Great. I guess that means we’ll likely have to revoke Adora’s sugar cube privileges too.”

“Wait,” Bow says. “I don’t understand. _Why_ isn’t Adora allowed to ride Swift Wind all of a sudden?”

Still facedown, Glimmer flaps a hand in Swift Wind’s direction. “Last week, while you were visiting your dads on their dig, Adora fell off Swift Wind.”

“Midair,” Catra adds, sinking even lower in her chair.

“And from like,” Glimmer says, “forty feet in the air or something.”

“She _fell_?” Bow gasps—shooting to his feet. Eyes widening with concern. “Wha—why didn’t anyone tell me? Is she alright?”

“Of course she’s alright,” says Catra, pointing at the door before rolling her eyes. “You just saw her.”

A moment passes as Bow processes this. “Oh,” he says with some relief, and drops back into his chair. “Right. Sorry.”

“She _did_ break a bunch of bones, though,” Catra adds. “But for only like a minute. She managed to turn into She-Ra to heal them but…”

Catra trails off. Nausea floods through her body as she recalls the way Adora’s leg had twisted, the bone bent in all the wrong ways. Adora stifled her tears with a hand as she transformed and healed herself, the leg miraculously setting into the correct position as Catra watched helplessly.

“...it wasn’t pretty,” Catra mutters.

“If Adora had failed to summon She-Ra, she likely would have been really hurt,” Glimmer explains to Bow, finally lifting her head enough to see her face. “And as we all know, Adora’s been having trouble turning into She-Ra lately. So there’s a real risk here.”

Bow grows quiet when he asks, “Why did she fall off?”

Swift Wind glances around like he’s being accused. “Don’t look at me. It’s not like I bucked her off.”

Bow meets Catra’s eyes. “She fell asleep?”

Catra nods. “She fell asleep. Lost her grip.”

“And then tumbled down, down, down,” Glimmer says.

Bow breathes out, “Ouch.”

“Yup,” Glimmer and Catra reply, in unison.

“And have of the treatments been working at all?” Bow asks, directing the question at Catra. “Even a little?”

At this point, Adora has tried almost everything. She’s gone to regular therapy sessions, visited several different healers and sorcerers, and even did some sort of sleep study with Entrapta. They all gave advice, prescribed treatments. But so far, none have been effective in smothering Adora’s nightmares.

Catra shakes her head. “Not as far as I can tell. She refuses to sleep most nights. If she _does_ manage to settle down, it’s only ever for a couple hours. After that, she always wakes up in a panic and can’t fall back to sleep afterward.”

“And then she ends up falling asleep at inconvenient times,” Glimmer huffs out. “Like on Swift Wind’s back, for instance.”

Bow sighs. “There has to be something. Something we can do to help her.” He turns to Glimmer. “What about a potion? Sorcerers have potions for everything—stress relief, foot fungus, you name it. Is there something like that to help Adora sleep?”

“We tried sleep potions ages ago,” Glimmer says. “None have worked. If anything, they only seem to make the nightmares worse.”

It’s frustrating, Catra thinks. They’ve tried so many things, so many treatments—only to have each and every attempt fail miserably. Among them, a true menagerie of potions and draughts. Potions to relieve stress, potions to relax the mind, potions to induce exhaustion.

But her nightmares smash through each and every one of them. Some potions, like Glimmer said, even seemed to react badly with Adora’s dreams—causing the nightmares to become more twisted or terrifying than ever. Almost like they were punishing Adora for trying to silence them.

The truth is that nothing, _nothing_ , has been able to keep Adora from waking with a jolt each night. And it’s unbearable to see her like that, shooting upright in bed every few hours, lungs gasping and screaming for relief—

It’s no wonder why Adora has elected to stop sleeping entirely.

“ _I don’t even see_ her _, anymore_ ,” Adora told Catra, just a few nights ago. Just after Adora’s last—and failed—attempt to sleep. Her face was in her hands. Her voice, thick and wavering. “ _In the dreams. It’s always just...people getting hurt. People I love.”_

_I don’t even see her,_ Adora said.

_Her_.

Chasm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora and Catra have a conversation.  
> Catra refuses to get mad.  
> Adora explains her research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all! thanks so much for ~40 comments on last chapter! As always, comments motivate me like nothing else, so if you have anything to say about the fic, please please please keep leaving comments!
> 
> in other news, I'm about 75k words into this fic and uh...yeah it's gonna be a long one. I'm wondering now whether it'll be over 100k words when it's done. So. I'll let you know when I have a finalized chapter count. It will likely be 20 chapters or maybe longer and I'm sorry lol.
> 
> anyway, i really liked writing this chapter so...enjoy!

Chasm. 

The truth is…Adora wouldn’t be having these nightmares if it wasn’t for _her_ , for Chasm. 

Six months ago, a portal led Catra and Adora into a plane between worlds. Their goal was simple, but long overdue—they sought to rescue Glimmer’s mother.

Queen Angella had been trapped there, in the plane between worlds, many years before. Trapped by an earlier portal, the one activated during the war. The one that Catra, in her most unforgivable moment, tore through the fabric of reality. 

This new portal was supposed to fix that. It was supposed to bring Angella back—right Catra’s wrong. 

But something went _wrong_ with the portal, when they passed through. Rather than find themselves in another dimension, Catra and Adora were flung to a time years before, back before they were married. Back when they were enemies waging war against each other. 

Time travel. That’s what it was. Somehow, the portal had sent them to their past. Which meant that if they altered their choices—if they changed their past even a little—their entire future together could be compromised. 

Convinced that they needed to preserve the timeline as it was, Adora and Catra perfectly relived the worst years of their lives. Pretending to be enemies. Suffering endless defeats and torments and disasters, allowing themselves to be separated and hurt and mind-controlled—

But eventually, Catra discovered that it wasn’t real—that the time travel was an illusion. An illusion conjured by _something_ there, living in the portal. A magical entity that sought to manipulate them, and trap them in a dreamworld...and used Catra and Adora’s own memories to do it. 

Catra learned of this, and escaped. Broke free of the illusion. Thrust the entity from her mind, and woke up. 

Catra found Angella soon after. And through Angella, Catra learned about her—about Chasm. The entity who conjured all those illusions. And it seemed that, millennia ago, before Chasm had been imprisoned in the plane between worlds...she had been the most feared creature in the entire universe. 

But while Catra discovered the truth about Chasm, Adora didn’t. At least...not at first. Almost not at all. 

Adora remained trapped. And Chasm gladly used her illusions to cut Adora down to her lowest, her most desperate. She forced Adora to relive her every trauma, convinced Adora that her every action, every ambition was for nothing. And worst of all, she convinced Adora that Catra had died a terrible death—and that Adora was at fault for her loss. 

Chasm wanted Adora hopeless, completely hopeless. And Chasm knew that if she convinced Adora to give up...to _break_ and let herself die in the illusion…

Then Adora would really die. And Chasm would gain control of her body. Of _She-Ra_. 

She almost succeeded too. Catra barely managed to wake Adora in time, thereby keeping Adora from making a deadly sacrifice. But not before Chasm graced Adora with one last torture—a spell that stole some great quantity of magic from She-Ra. 

Catra still doesn’t understand what it was for—Chasm's last attack. She doesn't know what Chasm hoped to accomplish, with Adora already aware of the truth and seeking to rid Chasm from her mind. 

But it was over, at least. Catra and Adora were free of her. Of Chasm. And they could finally bring themselves and Angella home, to Etheria. 

But ever since then...ever since they came back…

Adora just hasn’t been the same. 

The nightmares are new, most certainly—they started shortly after Adora’s return. At first, Adora consistently dreamed of Chasm. Of Chasm murdering Adora in increasingly horrific attacks. But over time, the dreams began to change, focusing instead on Adora hurting the people she loves. Killing them in vivid, gruesome ways. And that was even worse, even more terrifying for Adora. Adora just couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand sleeping. She still can’t—and still suffers days, if not weeks, of wakefulness to avoid such visions. 

Catra supposes it’s not unexpected. Adora nearly died—nearly lost it all—in a dream. And now, whenever she dreams, she continues to relive those fears...maybe even manifests them in illusions of her own. 

Catra can’t complain, she knows. Things could be much worse. She could’ve lost Adora to Chasm permanently—her mind destroyed by Chasm’s manipulations. Really, the nightmares are a small price to pay by comparison. 

But...it’s hard for Catra to think of themselves as lucky when she sees the dark circles beneath Adora’s eyes. The exhaustion in her features and the sagging of her shoulders. 

Catra’s eyes meet Glimmer’s across the conference table. They’re still sitting there. Still talking, still discussing their options. “Well. There’s one potion Adora keeps asking to try. A special one. But Glimmer says—”

“It’s a bad idea,” Glimmer insists. “The thing she wants—it's not a normal sleeping potion.” 

“But Adora—”

Glimmer groans and throws her head back. “I can’t _believe_ Castaspella even told Adora about it. A potion like that...it’s too powerful for everyday use. Adora would’ve been better off not knowing about it at all.”

“Wait,” Bow says. “What potion?”

“ _Essence of Oblivion_ ,” Glimmer says, half-spitting the name. 

Bow blinks. Clearly, he’s never heard of the potion before, and Catra can’t help but feel a pinprick of jealousy. She wishes she could say the same—wishes that she was as blissfully unaware. 

But unfortunately, Catra hears about the potion nearly every day and night—from Adora. 

“ _If we could convince Glimmer to let me try Essence of Oblivion,”_ Adora keeps asking, pleading, only for Catra to shake her head, “ _I could finally get some sleep—_ ”

“ _Not my call_ ,” says Catra, every time. “ _If Glimmer says it’s too risky, I trust her—”_

“Essence of Oblivion,” Bow repeats, as if testing the words on his tongue. “Sounds terrifying. What does it do, exactly?”

“Let’s just say it’s the universe’s most powerful sleeping potion,” Glimmer grumbles. “One that Aunt Casta made the mistake of telling Adora about. And now Adora won’t stop pestering me for it, even though I’ve told her how dangerous it is—”

“Well, you’re not the only one,” says Catra. “She’s been asking me too. Trying to get me to talk to you about it.”

Glimmer scoffs. “Well, my answer to you would be the same as my answer to her: _No way_. There has to be something safer. A better solution to Adora’s problem—”

“I wasn’t planning on arguing with you,” says Catra, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “But she’s not giving up on it. And if we don’t find that _better solution_ soon, she’ll only want the potion more.”

“Maybe we should reach out to doctors on other planets?” Bow offers. “Expand our options? There are lots of really technologically advanced worlds out there—”

“Only if they come to us,” Catra says. “If we travel off-planet, I just know that Adora will end up trying to sneak off to Histrion—”

“And they’d have to be very discreet,” remarks Glimmer. “The last thing we need is the whole universe knowing that She-Ra is completely out of commission.” 

“Hold on. She’s not _completely_ out of commission,” Catra protests. “She’s just...taking some time to get better. And things will be back to normal once we figure out how to deal with these nightmares.”

Glimmer and Bow exchange a skeptical glance, but don’t otherwise argue. 

Catra grunts and rises to her feet. “I better go talk to her, then,” Catra says, referring to Adora. Her eyes find the chair next to her, now empty again. “Figure out what kept her at the library." 

Bow shrugs. “Whenever I ask what she’s doing there all day, she just says ‘ _research_.’”

“I always get the same answer,” Catra replies. “Question is... _what_ is she researching?” 

* * *

When Catra walks into her bedroom, she finds Adora hunched at her desk. 

The desk, same as always. It’s Adora’s favorite place to spend the night, or the early morning hours. Mostly because, in the absence of peaceful sleep, Adora must find other ways to occupy herself...and keep herself awake. 

And Catra is _definitely_ not frustrated to find her bed consistently cold and empty. 

(And yes, she knows it’s selfish—wanting Adora there, lying beside her, for her own comfort’s sake.)

Adora’s nose is tipped downwards, practically plunged into the book below. Engrossed in reading, as usual. Though the stack of books on the desk doesn’t look any shorter or different in shape (usually the pile ends up toppled over completely if she takes a book from the stack) so Catra can only assume that Adora is reading her newest book. One not yet added to the precarious tower stolen from the library. 

Catra shuts the door behind herself, greeting Adora with a gentle, “Hey.”

Melog perks up at Catra’s arrival. Attuned to Catra’s emotions as they are, they immediately slink to Adora’s side and nuzzle against her leg, settling into the spot beside her desk chair. Absently, Adora reaches down and scratches behind Melog’s ears, but doesn’t otherwise reply. 

Catra draws closer to Adora. “How was the library?” Catra asks, just trying to make conversation. 

And, okay, maybe she’s prying just a little. But it’s frustrating, not knowing what Adora’s doing there every day, tucked between Lance and George’s bookcases for hours on end. 

Adora still refuses to reply, at first. But then, finally—

“You don’t have to do that,” Adora says.

Catra blinks. “Do what?”

“ _That_ ,” Adora says again, bitterly. “Coddle me. Pretend that nothing’s wrong. You can get mad at me, you know? I mean, I was late to the meeting, for Etheria’s sake. I broke my promise—I didn’t come back when I was supposed to. So just...just _say it_. Get mad. Get mad at me.”

There’s another pause as Catra just stands there, unable to do anything but keep blinking.

“But...I’m _not_ mad at you,” she tells Adora. And truly, Catra means every word. 

Adora closes the book with a small thump. She pulls her knees beneath her chin, wrapping her arms around them as she balances her heels on the edge of the chair. 

“You should be,” Adora grumbles. 

Another pause. And then, while fighting a small smile, Catra asks, “Why?”

“Because I’m mad at you,” Adora says. “And it’d be easier to be mad at you if you were mad at me too.”

Catra tries not to laugh. Instead, she draws closer and closer until she’s standing directly behind Adora’s chair. Close enough to wrap her arms around the chair’s back—and Adora’s stomach, which was Catra’s intended target. 

“Well, that’s real inconvenient for you,” says Catra, leaning forward until her cheek is pressed against Adora’s. “Because I’m not mad at you.” She plants a kiss there, on Adora’s cheek. “Care to tell me why you’re mad at me, though?”

Adora seems to sink lower in her chair. Her voice is small, almost ashamed when she whispers, “Because you sent Cleo to find me.”

Catra sighs and drops her arms. Because, _right_. That. Catra knew Adora wouldn’t like that. She never likes Cleo following her anywhere, least of all the library—where Adora keeps her activities private from everyone. Even from Catra herself, however much it annoys her. 

“C’mon, Adora,” Catra begs, each word filled with well-meaning apology. “You said it yourself. You were late, and I was worried. I mean, what else was I supposed to do?”

“I know,” mutters Adora. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I know you were right to do it, and I probably would’ve done the same thing if the situation was reversed. It’s just…”

Catra waits patiently for her to finish. Waiting, waiting but...nothing. Instead, Adora stares determinedly at the book—violently reopening the cover and shoving her face down into the pages. Her nose ends up half-embedded in the spine, she’s trying so hard to look like she’s concentrating. 

It’d even be almost comical, Catra thinks, _if_ Adora wasn’t using the stupid book to avoid the end of that sentence. 

“It’s just _what_?” she presses, again wrapping her arms tightly around Adora’s middle—basically begging Adora to say what’s on her mind. 

Still, Adora refuses to answer.

“Adora,” Catra says, more sternly now. “Don’t hide things from me.”

Nothing.

“Adora—”

“Fine! You want honesty?” Adora snaps, and whirls around in her chair. Her eyes are furious, accusing, but somehow it doesn’t feel directed at Catra. “I’m tired of it! I’m tired of being followed everywhere. I’m tired of not being trusted, of everyone looking at me like I’m some sort of ticking time bomb—”

Adora’s voice is shrill, faltering, like she can’t quite suck in enough air to form her words. There’s a thickness there too. Thick, like she’s on the verge of tears. 

“A-and now Cleo’s going to be there, in the library, every damn day,” Adora stammers. “Following me. Watching me. Because she _knows_ now. Cleo knows where it is, the library. The last place I could go without people staring at me and thinking I’m losing my mind, the only place where I felt useful—”

Catra gapes at Adora, startled by the outburst. “Adora, no one thinks—”

“Don’t do that,” Adora says, wriggling out of Catra’s arms so she can stand, facing Catra directly. “Don’t tell me I’m wrong. I’m not. I know I’m not!” She gestures to herself, to her exhaustion-strained features. “I may be tired, but I’m not stupid. I know what everyone thinks of me.”

Catra can’t reply. Not immediately. Because truthfully, Catra _does_ know what Adora’s talking about. Rumors do spread—between princesses or planets or just everyday people—and Adora hasn’t looked or acted like herself in quite some time. She’s frazzled, on edge, and it’s clear by those dark circles that she isn’t sleeping at all. 

But what most people don’t understand is _why_ . There’s a reason why Adora is struggling to sleep, and anyone who truly knows her _understands_ that reason. 

“You’re right. I can’t speak for everyone,” Catra says calmly. “But _I_ know that you’re not losing your mind, and so do your friends. And truly, Adora, if Cleo is making you feel this way, like you’re being judged, we can always get you a different guard—”

Adora’s face scrunches up in misery. “That won’t help.”

“Okay,” says Catra, careful to keep herself calm and gentle. To not rise to Adora’s misplaced anger. “If that won’t help, then what can I do? Tell me what I can do, and I’ll do it.”

Adora’s lip begins to tremble. 

“Nothing helps,” Adora exhales, and drops back into her seat, fingers curled white-knuckle around the edge of her desk. “It’s just…” 

Her head hangs and finally, finally, the tears come. Flooding down her cheeks in messy streams. Catra feels her own heart fracture as she watches Adora struggle to cover her own face, trying to hide her crying—

“I’m _tired_ ,” Adora sobs, shoulders jerking as the words seem to explode from her mouth. “I’m so damn tired, Catra. I’m so angry and tired and _nothing_ helps and I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Catra says, and kneels to wrap Adora in her arms. She wishes she had something real to offer, to say. A promise that she’ll find a fix to this, to Adora’s nightmares...but so far Catra’s ideas, all of them, have been complete and utter _busts_. 

Catra already made a fairly hollow promise months ago, when they returned from the plane between worlds. She promised Adora that they would be happy—happy, in the way that Chasm never allowed them to be, back in that torturous illusion. But with all these nightmares… Adora has remained far from happy. And Catra hasn’t been much help in changing that. 

Helpless. Catra has been helpless in the face of these nightmares, just as Adora has been. 

Catra clings tightly to Adora. “I know,” she says. “I know you’re tired. I know it’s hard, and I’m sorry.”

There are cold-hot tears dripping onto Catra’s shoulder as Adora continues to cry. Catra’s relieved, at least, to feel Adora sinking into her arms. Relaxing by some small measure within Catra’s embrace. But she knows it’s not much—that it’s not really enough. This small respite is nothing in comparison to a full night’s sleep. 

“And if you don’t want Cleo to find you in the library,” Catra continues, searching for any consolation to give, “we can tell her not to follow you there, alright? She follows Glimmer’s orders, and if we tell Glimmer to change those orders, she’ll have to listen.”

She feels Adora nod her head. “I’m being stupid,” she mutters, wiping an elbow over her eyes. 

“You’re not,” Catra replies, instantly. She cracks a small smile. “And honestly? Given the fact that you’re running on, what, like negative ten hours of sleep? You have a right to be as stupid and angry and tired as you want.”

At that, Adora gives a short laugh, one that’s mucousy and shuddering. 

“And I’m sorry for sending Cleo after you,” Catra says. “I didn’t want to, believe me. But I really was worried. You were so late—”

She feels Adora nod again. “And I’m sorry for that. For being late,” Adora says, sniffing. “I fell asleep. At the library.” 

“Oh?” Catra asks, both eyebrows shooting upwards. “In that case, I shouldn’t have interrupted. Any sleep you can get—”

Adora gives a short laugh—a dismissive one. “No need. It wouldn’t have lasted much longer, even if Cleo didn’t wake me. It was just another nightmare. A bad one, and I think it...it really messed me up, and I didn’t have time to process it—”

Catra pulls away so that she can look at Adora’s face. Her eyes are dull, tear-stained as Catra weaves her fingers through Adora’s hair. “What about?” Catra asks softly—though she’s afraid to know the answer. Asking has never revealed anything comforting in the case of Adora’s nightmares. 

Bitterness coats Adora’s every word as she answers. 

“Oh, the usual,” she says. “I killed you. Impaled you on my sword.” 

Catra watches, speechless, as fresh tears tumble down Adora’s cheeks. 

Adora continues, speaking no louder whisper. “And then I couldn’t heal you, no matter what I did. I couldn’t fix it.”

They sit in silence for several moments. And Catra knows that Adora is picturing the dream. Her eyes are fixated on Catra’s abdomen in particular...and Catra can guess where the sword made contact, in her nightmare. 

“Well, there’s nothing to heal,” says Catra. She slides Adora’s hand down, until it’s laid out across the side of Catra’s throat, where her pulse pounds. “I’m here. I’m okay. It was just a dream, Adora.”

After that, she lifts Adora’s hand and brings it to her lips, kissing it slow and soft. 

“So…” Catra says, letting the word hang and meander. Perhaps too-obviously attempting to change the subject. “I’m really trying not to pry here but… after all this talk about the library, and all the books…” She sighs. “Well. You’ve really got me wondering what exactly, you’ve been doing there all this time.”

Adora opens her mouth, but Catra holds up a finger to stop her. “And don’t just say _research_ ,” Catra adds. “That’s what you always say, and it really doesn’t help.”

“Oh,” breathes Adora, very clearly hesitating. She scratches at her chin. “Sorry. It’s uh…it’s really just a theory, and I didn’t want to tell anyone until I had more evidence—”

“Well, I’m still interested in what it is,” Catra says, taking Adora’s hands. Staring into her eyes to make her sincerity clear. “You can tell me anything, okay? Evidence or no evidence.”

It takes several moments of staring and pleading with her eyes, but finally, _finally_ , Adora seems to relent. She exhales hugely and turns back around, clutching tightly to her newest book as she begins combing through the age-darkened pages. 

“The First Ones’ language is...complex. They have letters, vowels, punctuation—everything that a language like Etherian has,” Adora explains.”But they also have these...other symbols. Things that can’t be broken down linguistically. Things that even _I_ can’t read. They’re idiomatic, I think. Specific to the culture. Symbols that have stories behind them.”

Adora lifts up the book, displaying a page that contains a curving, intricate shape that looks like two prisms intertwined. 

“For example,” Adora says, pointing to the page. “This symbol doesn’t have a direct translation. The first time I saw it, I was reading an old First Ones scroll in George and Lance’s library, and I was sort of stunned to encounter a First Ones symbol I couldn’t read. Most of them come naturally to me. Like breathing, almost. But _not_ this one. This one was different. The only clue I had to its meaning was the scroll itself—some sort of ancient First Ones love story. A romance from their mythology. But when I started searching, I discovered that this symbol appeared in pretty much every scroll that mentioned love or sex or—”

Catra snorts. “So wait. Is this thing some sort of weird First Ones sex symbol—?”

Adora rolls her eyes. “No, dummy. It _also_ appears in things that don’t have sex at all. I actually think it’s just the First Ones’ symbol for true love. And I think this symbol is supposed to mean something _more_ than just writing the word ‘love’ in their usual language.”

“Oh,” Catra says. “Well, that’s...that’s pretty cool, actually.”

Adora nods and shrugs. “So after I found this, I started searching for more examples.” Adora turns a few more pages in the book, revealing a strange symbol that looks like a castle. “This is another one. I think it means something like ‘glory.’ Glory in battle, specifically. Or at least that’s where it always appears in context.”

“Huh.”

Adora inhales deeply and keeps turning pages. “And then...more recently...I found this one.”

She reveals another symbol. A sharp-looking one, comprised of connected spirals struck through with lines. It’s a little bit unsettling-looking, if Catra’s being totally honest. Like the frantic scribble of a child. 

In fact...the more Catra stares at it…

The more she realizes that it looks sort of familiar. 

But Catra _knows_ that doesn’t make sense. Catra can’t read the language of the First Ones—not in the least, despite how many times Adora has tried to teach her. And she can probably count on one hand the number of times she’s visited George and Lance’s library.

“I kept seeing this symbol in scrolls that mentioned different types of misfortunes,” Adora recounts. “Natural disasters. Wars. Disease. And at first, I thought that the symbol was just used to represent bad luck. Like...if something bad happened to the First Ones, they’d just slap this symbol on their histories as an expression of grief.” 

“Makes sense,” Catra says, still closely studying the symbol. It’s bothering her. The fact that it looks so familiar. She _swears_ she’s seen it before. She just...she just can’t place where...

“But then I realized that the symbol appeared in scrolls that were _about_ disaster, yes...but only in the sections that discussed rebuilding efforts or peace treaties or cures,” continues Adora. “Which made me think that maybe...maybe the symbol is actually meant to _ward off_ further bad luck.”

Catra keeps staring. Why, why, _why_ does she recognize this stupid thing?

“After that, I contacted a few of our friends on other planets,” Adora keeps explaining. “And once I showed it to them, the Star Siblings said that they’ve encountered the symbol before on a bunch of different planets. It’s always the same symbol, and it always means something similar—a symbol to ward off bad energy, or evil spirits, or people with ill intentions—”

Catra’s eyes finally leave the symbol, instead resting on Adora’s face. “So what does it actually mean?”

Adora stares at her. Her expression is excited, almost triumphant. “It looks familiar to you too, doesn’t it?” 

Catra’s eyes widen. “Wait. You’ve _also_ seen it before?”

“Yeah,” says Adora. “After looking at it for long enough, I realized I had seen it pretty recently—in Mystacor. During Glimmer’s induction into the Sorcerer’s Guild.”

Right. Shortly after the war, Glimmer decided to become a full-fledged sorceress—which isn’t an easy feat to accomplish while running an entire kingdom. It took her nearly half a decade to finish the various trainings at Mystacor, and it was less than a year ago that she finally graduated, earning herself a place among the Guild. Though, unlike the rest of the sorcerers (Micah excluded), she decided to remain in Bright Moon rather than Mystacor.

Catra recalls the induction—how long and boring it was despite how happy she was for Glimmer—but she still doesn’t remember seeing the symbol. Likely, she was too distracted by the pretty dress Adora had worn to the ceremony, since Catra and Adora were _also_ on their honeymoon in Mystacor at that time, and Catra had... _other things_ on her mind. 

So...why does the symbol still strike Catra as familiar?

Adora keeps recounting her research. “So I asked Micah about it, showed him a drawing. He said that it’s a rune that the sorcerers use. One that’s inscribed on every Sorcerer’s Guild badge upon graduating from their studies.”

Memory floods Catra’s vision. She remembers conveying a Sorcerer’s Guild badge to Shadow Weaver’s cell. Catra had never seen it before, never held it, and she’d examined it closely. There were symbols carved all along the back, and she thinks perhaps one of the symbols looked vaguely like the one in the book—

It was on Shadow Weaver’s badge, yes…

But that’s _not_ the only place Catra remembers it from, Catra realizes. She remembers it from somewhere else. A more recent time. A space between worlds. A barren plane where she stood, staring at strange symbols carved into stone. Symbols that whispered warnings about danger, about evil, about _Chasm._

One of those symbols—the one she touched, her fingers tracing the curves of the carving—looked exactly like the one she’s faced with now. 

Suddenly, Catra’s not so sure she likes where this conversation is going. 

“Why?” Catra demands, her eyes narrowing at Adora. 

“Because it’s their way of swearing off dark magic,” Adora says, all too happy to explain. “That’s what the symbol means. It’s a ward—a ward against the darkest of magics, against evil, and I think...I think it’s what the First Ones used to—”

“No,” says Catra. “I mean— _why_ are you researching this?” 

She stares at Adora, hard, as Adora sets her jaw. 

“I think that this symbol is used to protect people against entities of dark magic,” Adora says. Her eyes flit down to her hands, refusing to look Catra in the eye. “Entities like Chasm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adora? obsessed?  
> no....


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra loses an argument.  
> Glimmer teases Catra.  
> Adora throws some cookies into a bush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Y'all...this fic is SO long, I'm at nearly 100k and it has still so much to go...currently clocking in at 20 chapters too. Whoops. Strap in for a long one. I've also learned through writing it that this fic is actually _less_ angsty than the last one...but it's def got its angsty moments, so people who like angst will not starve. 
> 
> Also, I didn't have time to do art for this one. Might get to it later in the week, but last week's art was posted on the previous chapter! 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy! There was a dip in comments last chapter, so please remember to like...tell me your thoughts. I'm begging y'all. Even a keysmash will do.

Catra sighs. “Adora.”

“I mean—it makes sense!” Adora insists. “Chasm is supposed to be old. Really old. She’s been around since before Etheria as we know it, since before Horde Prime or the First Ones—”

“I really should’ve known…” Catra mutters to herself.

“And maybe…” Adora continues slowly, almost like she’s afraid to keep talking, “maybe fear of her is  _ so _ ingrained in the universe that this symbol became known as a ward against all evil, rather than a ward against a specific threat—

“Are you seriously telling me that you’ve been spending weeks, if not months...researching  _ wards _ against Chasm?”

But Adora doesn’t listen. She just keeps barrelling ahead with her theories. “ I thought that...if we all started wearing this symbol, we’d be protected from her—”

“Adora,” Catra murmurs, and her voice sounds strange to her own ears. Teetering somewhere between reassurance and frustration and desperation for Adora to listen. “Chasm is trapped in another dimension, okay? There’s nothing to be...to be  _ warded _ off. She’s gone. We’re safe—”

Adora’s lips press into a hard line. “You don’t know that.”

“But I  _ do _ know that!” Catra tells her, and is startled to find herself nearly yelling. “I mean...I was the one who battled a freaking slideshow of my worst fears to break  _ you _ out of her illusion!” 

Adora winces. But Catra won't stop. She gestures to herself, then to Adora.

“I beat her.  _ We _ beat her. And you need to accept that.”

There’s a pause. They sit there, frozen for several moments. Frozen...until Adora’s lip starts to tremble. 

And suddenly, Catra is horrified with herself. She shouldn’t have gotten so angry—she knows that. Catra said that she’d listen, that Adora could tell her anything, and here she is, yelling at Adora for telling her the truth—

But Catra can’t even bear to think about it. To think about Chasm returning, reappearing, to inflict more tortures upon them. Chasm promised, after all, to make Adora and Catra miserable for the rest of their days. But she  _ won’t _ , Catra assures herself. Because Chasm can’t come back, she can’t—

Catra closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I-I’m sorry,” Catra stammers, grasping for Adora’s hands. “I’m sorry, it’s just...I need you to accept this, Adora. I need you to accept that she’s gone. That we won. That we’re here, and she’s trapped there—as she should be.”

“But I don’t,” Adora says, with certainty. “I don’t believe you. We opened a portal twice. Twice, to the place where she was trapped. Who’s to say we won’t do it again?”

“Because we know better now,” Catra answers immediately. 

“Maybe  _ we _ do,” Adora says. “But what if someone else does it? What if someone else opens a portal—”

“C’mon, Adora. You remember how hard it was. There’s no way—”

“Well, what if another person like Entrapta springs up?’ Adora demands. “Someone who’s good at science. Too good. They won’t know the risk. They’ll open the portal, and then what? She’ll escape. She’ll escape and attack us again, or worse, attack innocent people. Or maybe an alien culture more advanced than ours will try to—”

“Adora,” Catra says, trying to muster some laughter. “The chances are so unlikely—”

“I don’t care,” Adora shoots back. “I don’t care that it’s unlikely. If there’s a chance,  _ any chance at all _ , that I can save someone else from being broken the way I was, then I’ll take it! I’ll take it as far I can—”

“Broken?” Catra repeats in fearful disbelief. “She didn’t  _ break you _ , Adora. You escaped—”

Adora shakes her head fiercely. “But I think she did. I think that’s what she was doing, before I escaped. When she stole all that magic from me. I think she...I think she stole my magic, and then she used it to  _ break _ something in my head. Something vital, something tied to sleep—”

“Adora,” Catra says, barely able to suppress her horror at Adora’s words. “You’re not broken—”

Adora begins to pace, her chin clutched in her own hand as her thoughts continue to spiral. “Or maybe she cursed me. That’s a thing in magic, right? Being cursed. Maybe that’s what she did. She cursed me with nightmares, and now I’m doomed for the rest of my life—”

“Adora!” Catra yells, and she grabs ahold of both of Adora’s shoulders, forcing Adora to look at her directly. “You are  _ not  _ broken, and you are  _ not _ cursed. Do you hear me?” 

“Then how do you explain it?” Adora demands, quickly descending into some sort of panic. “It’s been months, and I’m not getting better. Nothing works. None of the treatments, or potions, or medications. It’s like the part of my brain that controls sleep is just...it’s just  _ broken _ . Poisoned by these nightmares—”

“You’ll get better,” Catra tells her, like a promise.

“I don’t believe you,” Adora says, shaking her head. “I wish I did, but I don’t.”

“We’ll prove it,” Catra says. “We’ll find some sort of cure—”

Adora’s eyes harden. Flinging out both arms, she demands, “ _ What _ cure, Catra? We’ve tried everything. Everything, except...”

But she doesn’t finish. She just trails off, sighing and receding into herself. 

“What?” Catra asks, but she doesn’t even need the elaboration. Adora’s meaning is clear, clearer than blue skies or starlight cutting through space.

“You know what,” Adora scoffs. “The one thing that could possibly help—”

The potion. That’s what Adora is talking about. The potion Catra discussed earlier, with Glimmer. 

_ Essence of Oblivion.  _

Catra is silent for a long time because she  _ can’t _ . She can’t do it. She can’t prove Adora wrong. She can’t make Adora believe that Chasm will stay gone, she can’t prove that Adora’s not broken, and she  _ can’t _ help Adora conquer her nightmares.

Nothing’s working. Nothing they’ve tried so far, and there aren’t any more options she can think of.

Nothing, except this. This dangerous thing, this  _ promising _ thing— 

“I’m begging you, Catra,” Adora whispers. “To help me. Help me talk to Glimmer. I know you want to protect me, you both do…” Shakily, she exhales, like she’s lowering her breath on a single strand of rope. “But I can’t take this anymore. I need  _ sleep _ . Sleep that doesn’t hurt me—”

Catra knows that it’s supposed to be dangerous. Over and over again, Glimmer has told them that—that the potion is dangerous, too dangerous to try. 

But truthfully...

Catra can’t do this anymore, either. She can’t handle these nightmares any more than Adora can. She can’t keep watching Adora’s treatments fail, or hear Adora split the night with a scream. It’s hard enough seeing Adora like this now, with those trembling hands and shoulders, those sunken eyes and tear-burned cheeks—

“Please let me have this,” Adora begs, clutching at Catra’s shoulders. “It’s been  _ months _ , and I...I can’t stay awake anymore. And I can’t sleep, either, not when sleep makes me see such terrible things—”

Catra stares at Adora. Stares and stares, struggling to decide. Because, god, how is Catra supposed to make this choice? How can she choose between Adora’s sanity and her safety?

Catra makes a strangled noise—some grunt of indecision. “But Glimmer says—”

“So there’s a little danger,” Adora says, rolling her eyes. “But what’s the difference, really? This situation is dangerous on its own. Half the time, I can’t turn into She-Ra. I can’t ride Swift Wind without falling off. And honestly?” A gust of air puffs between her lips. “It  _ hurts,  _ being awake for this long. My head hurts. My eyes hurt. I’m sore and I’m tired and I...”

With a trembling inhale, Adora takes a step forward. Her hands land on Catra’s shoulders and grasp them tightly. 

“Please, Catra,” Adora begs, asking,  _ pleading _ , with her eyes. “Just let me try. That’s all I’m asking for. A chance to try.”

Catra gulps and tries to look away, because,  _ shit _ , there’s no way she can say no with Adora right there, begging with those stupidly pretty blue eyes—even if those eyes are surrounded by dark circles. In fact, the dark circles make it  _ worse _ , if anything. Make it harder to argue _ — _

Catra’s stares at the floor. “And you’re  _ sure _ that this potion will help you?”

Adora nods frantically. 

“Dreamless sleep,” says Adora, wistfully. “That’s what it does. And that’s what I need.”

* * *

“Wow,” says Glimmer, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms. One of her eyebrows quirks up. “You’ve really gone soft, haven’t you?”

Catra’s mouth opens, shuts, then opens again. “I’m not—”

“You  _ know _ it’s a bad idea,” Glimmer remarks, and for whatever reason, she sounds smug. “The potion. You even agreed with me. And yet, with a few more tears from those big blue eyes—”

Catra stomps a foot. “I am not—” 

“The once-feared leader of the Horde, reduced to begging the Queen of Bright Moon for a potion she  _ knows _ she shouldn’t be asking for—”

“Glimmer,” Angella chides, disapproving. “There’s no need to make fun of her. She’s obviously upset.”

Glimmer rolls her eyes. “Sorry, mom. I’m just teasing.”

Catra turns to the nearby table, where Micah and Angella are eating breakfast. She hadn’t intended to hold this conversation in front of an audience, but she also didn’t want to wait. She went to the Queen’s chambers first thing in the morning. She won’t admit it, especially not to Adora, but she’s worried that  _ maybe _ Adora is right. That Adora really is cursed in some way. And maybe Catra needs someone to tell her that they’re both wrong—

But when Glimmer opened the door, she discovered that while Bow was already gone—off to a meeting of some sort—Glimmer was halfway through a meal with her parents. Parents who were far too willing to let Catra plead her case while they eavesdropped and buttered their toast.

“Listen,” Catra pleads. “Things have…they’ve  _ changed _ . I’m worried about my wife, okay? Really worried.”

Some of her smugness dissipates, but Glimmer’s stare remains unyielding. Sympathetic, but set in her decision. 

“We’re all worried about Adora,” Glimmer says. “But that’s no reason to try something this risky. Adora puts herself in danger at the drop of a hat. We both agreed to not encourage that habit. Especially not now, when she’s this strung out—”

“If you saw her last night, you’d change your mind,” Catra says. “She was really upset—”

Glimmer’s raised eyebrow seems to climb even higher. “Adora’s come crying to me too. Begging, again and again, for me to give her the potion. But it hasn’t changed my mind. And you’re not going to, either.”

“You don’t understand,” says Catra. “She’s  _ so _ exhausted—maybe even long past her breaking point. And then she started explaining what she’s been doing at the library—”

At that, Glimmer actually looks intrigued. She leans forward a bit, balancing her chin on her hand.“And what  _ has _ she been doing at the library all this time?”

Catra sighs. “Researching,” Catra tells her, only half-mockingly. 

Glimmer opens her mouth in outrage. To curse at Catra, presumably. 

“Specifically—” Catra continues, before Glimmer can interrupt, “she’s been researching some sort of magic symbol that can ward off ‘ _ evil entities _ ’ like—”

“Chasm,” Glimmer sighs, and hangs her head. “I had a feeling it was something like that.”

“Huh,” muses Micah, from off to the side. “So is  _ that _ why she showed me that rune? I was wondering what interest she had considering, well, Adora has shown little proficiency with runes. Not that she needs them, of course, what with She-Ra being magical in nature—”

Catra finds herself sharing a slight smile with Glimmer. Likely, they’re both remembering the one time Glimmer tried to teach Adora a rune, years ago. A simple one intended to change the color of one of Adora’s shirts—though Adora’s attempt ultimately caused the shirt to erupt into flames. 

Glimmer, Catra, and Bow stood nearby, trying but failing to stifle their laughter as Adora frantically stamped out the small fire. 

_ “I’ll just stick to doing magic as She-Ra,” _ Adora sighed, staring defeatedly at the smoldering ruins of the shirt.

And it’s strange to Catra, remembering carefree moments like those. Moments before the second portal, before  _ Chasm _ . Catra almost wishes she could go back and warn their past selves of what would happen—what would change, and what they’d nearly lose. 

But Catra is also well-aware of the complications of time travel. 

“Adora wants everyone to wear the symbol at all times,” Catra explains. “Have it carved on something they’re wearing like the Sorcerer's Guild does—”

Glimmer rolls her eyes and gives a small groan of frustration. “Oh yeah. Good luck persuading the other princesses to do that—”

“But she’s  _ convinced _ that Chasm is going to come back, somehow,” Catra says. “And I can’t convince her otherwise. Worse, she thinks...she thinks Chasm  _ did _ something to her, back when she was trapped in the illusion. Something permanent.”

Glimmer’s features twist with confusion. “Like what?” 

Catra gulps and does her best to look casual. Unconcerned. Like Adora’s words last night didn’t make Catra nervous. Nervous, especially, that they might be true. 

“She thinks Chasm broke her, or something,” Catra says, and barely manages to keep her voice from trembling. “Broke something in her mind, and now she’ll never be able to sleep again.”

That wipes all amusement from Glimmer’s features. She sits up straighter. “Well. She’s been to doctors, right?”

Catra nods. 

“And they didn’t find anything, right? Nothing abnormal in the scans Entrapta did—?”

Catra shakes her head. 

At that, Glimmer relaxes a bit. “Well, in that case, I don’t know what Chasm could have done, besides just...y’know...scare Adora out of wanting to sleep for the rest of her life, which has basically been our theory to begin with. But Chasm hasn’t  _ physically _ sabotaged any part of Adora’s brain—”

“Well...Adora has this other theory too,” adds Catra. “That even if Chasm didn’t physically  _ break _ anything...Adora worries that Chasm cursed her. With magic. A curse that keeps her from sleeping—”

“There’s no such thing,” Micah interrupts, and Catra whirls around to look at him. He seems amused, almost, by the idea of a curse. Like nothing could be more absurd. 

“Curses—they’re not real,” Micah continues. “They’re just tales made up to scare children. There’s no real way to make one, though. Not through magic. And besides, Adora  _ can _ sleep, can’t she? It’s just that she has nightmares that make her not want to.”

“Yeah, I guess,” replies Catra. “I just...I don’t know. I feel like something should’ve worked by now. Or at least  _ helped _ by now.”

She turns to Angella, now. Angella...who has finally started to gain some weight, and looks significantly healthier than she did, back in that plane between worlds. Back in that plane that held Chasm, and all the horrors she could conjure—

“There’s no way she’s still in Adora’s head, right?” Catra asks Angella, and her voice breaks halfway through. “Chasm, giving her these nightmares?”

Angella shakes her head. “If Chasm remained in Adora’s head, she likely would have remained in yours as well—since you were, after all, last to leave the illusion. Have you had similar dreams to Adora’s?”

This time, Catra is the one to shake her head. She has bad dreams on occasion, yes, but that’s just an affordance of her past. She’s suffered nightmares about Shadow Weaver and Horde Prime for years now...but nothing to the degree of Adora’s nightmares. 

Still, frigid horror seems to seize Catra by the throat. The suggestion paralyzes her with terror…this idea that Chasm might remain inside them both. Because maybe it’s true. Maybe Chasm is still infecting them, but has chosen to torment only Adora with these nightmares—

“But what if—”

“Besides, what purpose would it serve for Chasm to remain in Adora’s head?” Angella says. “She didn’t succeed in gaining control of Adora’s body. And by now, surely she would have made some sort of move. Possessed someone else. Claimed another body—”

“But it’s possible?” Catra says, horrified.

“No,” says Angella firmly. “Nothing I read in those books suggests Chasm behaves in this way. With her, it’s always the same. She traps her prey in a dreamworld, and convinces them to let go of their bodies. And Adora is  _ awake _ and acting like herself—however distressed she may be.”

“Well, what if that’s not true?” Catra demands. “What if none of us woke up? What if we’re still asleep—”

“You know as well as I do that such a thing is impossible,” Angella says. 

Catra is desperate, nearly yelling when she asks, “ _ How _ ?”

“Because I read a book yesterday,” Angella says calmly. “A book I have never read before. And several other new books before that. And I’m sure you’ve  _ also _ had a few new experiences since you woke up, correct?”

With a jolt, Catra realizes that Angella is right. She’s done what Chasm cannot do for her. She’s learned new things, seen new sights—and not just relived twisted memories from her own head. The obscure sleep-science Entrapta explained to Catra and Adora should be sufficient proof in itself, new and confusing as it was—

Catra takes a deep breath. Calms herself. 

“Then what did Chasm do to Adora?” Catra murmurs. “She stole her magic...did  _ something _ to her—”

“She hurt Adora,” Angella answers. “She hurt her deeply, and severely. And I suspect she’ll be dealing with the aftermath for a long time. But I don't think there was any damage beyond the mental or emotional.”

“But she’s so upset,” Catra says. “She’s so upset, so tired, and there’s nothing I can do. Nothing at all.”

Angella stares at Catra for a long time. Examining her face. Her eyes. Studying her deeply and appraisingly. 

And then, with queenly authority, Angella turns to Glimmer and says, “You should give Adora the potion.”

Micah spits out his food. Glimmer’s face goes slack with outrage.

“What?” they both shriek, at the same time.

“You heard me,” Angella says, and smirks a bit at Catra—who returns the smile.

“Are you  _ kidding me _ , mom?” Glimmer demands, rushing forward to confront her. “Do you even know what potion we’re talking about?”

“Yes,” replies Angella. “I do.”

“ _ Essence of Oblivion _ ,” Glimmer all but yells. “That’s what it’s called. Doesn’t that sound just a little too dangerous to you? You sure you want Adora taking sips of that each night?”

“Angie,” Micah says. “It’s basically a coma in a bottle. If Adora takes too much—”

“I understand that it’s the only potion capable of completely silencing a person’s dreams,” Angella replies. “Which sounds like the only thing that might help Adora, at this point.” 

“Yes,” says Micah. “But only because it silences  _ everything _ .”

“Temporarily,” Angella corrects.

“Temporarily,” Micah agrees, reluctantly. “But while it’s in effect, it’s basically an off-switch to a person’s brain—”

“Not to mention that once she takes it,” Glimmer adds pointedly, shooting a glare Catra’s way, “there’s no waking her up. Not until the potion runs its course. If there’s some sort of emergency in the middle of the night—a fire, an attack, an attempt on her life—she won’t wake up. Not for hours—”

“Then we shall carefully manage the dosage for her,” Angella says calmly, as if it’s a clear solution. “And we will monitor Adora closely while she takes it.”

“Why are you agreeing with her?” Glimmer demands, gesturing furiously to Catra. “This potion is forbidden for a reason—”

“I have a unique perspective on Adora’s situation, and so does Catra.” Angella folds her hands in her lap. “Chasm’s illusions...they truly push a person to their breaking point. And Adora was trapped within them far longer than either of us. She was tortured mentally and emotionally while there—while asleep. And she won’t grow more comfortable with sleeping if she’s having terrible nightmares each and every night.” 

“But,  _ Mom— _ ”

Angella shakes her head. “No. What Adora needs above all else...is a good night’s rest. And then maybe she’ll start to get better, even without the help of the potion. But for now, this may be the only thing that works. The only thing that lets her sleep.”

Glimmer gives a mighty groan and drags her hand down her face. “This is a  _ bad _ idea.”

“I don’t like it either,” says Catra. “Trust me. Since the war, I’ve become the president of the ‘ _ keep Adora from risking her life _ ’ society. But you didn’t see Adora last night. She’s truly at her limit, and I don’t think she can take much more of this.”

Another groan from Glimmer. 

“I’m just asking to try it for  _ one night _ ,” Catra adds, trying to compromise. “Get the dosage exactly right. Monitor Adora closely. And if it goes badly, we won’t do it again.”

“If we administer this potion wrong,” Glimmer grits out, “there won’t be an  _ ‘again _ .’ You realize that, right? Not to mention that it’s an incredibly difficult potion to brew, even for an experienced sorcerer.”

Catra sets her jaw. “Then I’ll make sure we get it right. I won’t leave room for any additional risk.”

“Oh no,” Glimmer says, shaking her head. “You won’t be touching the potion at all.” She points to herself and Micah. “We’ll be handling that, since you’re too easily distracted or convinced by a few  _ Adora tears _ .”

Eyes wide in outrage, Catra shrieks, “I am not—!”

“We’ll check the dosage,” Glimmer interrupts, raising a hand to silence Catra. “And double-check. And triple check. And quadruple check. And probably check a few more times after that, because that’s how perfect the potion has to be—”

A pause. Glimmer sighs and crosses her arms. 

“And then we’ll pray that it’s enough.”

* * *

“Would you like some tea, dearie?”

Adora glances up from her book, only to find Madame Razz smiling back at her. Her nose wrinkles at the smell of the brew, which wafts from the cracked teapot clutched in Razz’s hands. Some mixture of mud and sickly-sweet berries, Adora is sure. Though she can’t expect anything different from Razz. 

“Oh no, that’s okay,” Adora says, holding up the canister of caffeinated tea that she packed for herself. She’s long since learned to pack her own food and drink when traveling to Razz’s place. Otherwise she’ll find herself choking down stale pies and rock-hard cookies and...well. That tea. 

Besides, Adora doesn’t go anywhere these days without caffeine on her person, or in her system. Other than literal  _ fear _ , it’s often the only thing that keeps Adora awake throughout the day. And the night. 

Madame Razz hums in reluctant acceptance and lowers the pot back onto the table. She always takes it as a personal offense when Adora rejects her tea. 

“No tea, yet you come to Madame Razz’s shack? You’re so silly to travel all this way, Adora.”

It’s taken a long time, but it seems that Razz has finally figured out Adora’s name. For years, Razz seemed to always be shifting between the present and the past, thereby helping two different She-Ra’s simultaneously—Adora’s predecessor, Mara, and Adora herself. 

But, of course, all that time-jumping confused Razz quite a bit. She’d always end up mixing up Mara and Adora’s names. And she never had a clear sense of what day it was, or how much time had passed between any given set of moments or days or  _ weeks _ .

But that’s changed more recently. She consistently calls Adora by the correct name. And Razz now actually seems to maintain a schedule of some sort, as evidenced by the way she invites Adora to tea every Sunday. 

Not that it’s Sunday today. Nope. Today, Adora is here for an entirely different reason. 

Today, Adora woke up early this morning to head to the library, same as usual—only to discover Cleo there, waiting for her. Sitting at the wooden table Adora had claimed the day before. Ready to guard and watch and  _ judge  _ in that obnoxious way of hers.

Evidently, Catra hadn’t asked Glimmer to change Cleo’s orders yet. Because that was exactly what Adora wanted to avoid, wasn’t it? Having Cleo sitting there, staring at her, as Adora sought escape from the world between rows of sprawling bookcases. 

So, amidst grumbled curses, Adora grabbed a few books off the shelves, loaded them into her backpack, and immediately sprinted back out. 

Cleo tried to follow Adora, sure. But Adora is much better at navigating the Whispering Woods than most—she’s had a lot of practice over the years, thanks to various battles and recon missions during the war. She easily lost Cleo within mere minutes of ducking between trees and bushes. 

Still, Adora couldn’t just wander the Woods all day. Not with a backpack of books weighing her down. 

So...she visited the only remaining place that Cleo wouldn’t know about. 

Here. Razz’s shack. 

“Just wanted some peace and quiet,” Adora says, smiling gently. “Thanks for letting me sit and read here, Razz. You’re really doing me a favor.”

“No worries, dearie!” Razz beams, and sets a plate of cookies in front of Adora. Cookies that are  _ definitely _ rocks—which Adora once learned the hard way. “You’re welcome to visit Madame Razz whenever you want.”

Adora nods, briefly grasps Razz’s hand, then attempts to return to her reading. 

Though it’s not easy. Throughout the day, Razz remains a somewhat distracting presence in Adora’s periphery—storming all throughout the shack, sweeping and reorganizing so aggressively that she only creates more formidable messes. Not to mention that the smell of Razz’s constant cooking (which mysteriously never produces anything edible and almost always results in a blazing fire) pushes Adora closer and closer to nausea. 

But it keeps Adora awake, at least. It’s truly impossible to sleep amidst this much chaos. The banging of pots and pans, the roar of the occasional fire, the curses Razz screams at some invisible foe name Loo-Kee—

And besides, Razz won’t judge Adora’s current state—not like everyone else does. She doesn’t comment on the dark circles beneath Adora’s eyes, or the disheveled appearance of her clothing, or the shaking of her hands. Here, Adora can simply  _ be _ . She can be, and stay awake, and read as much as she wants. 

Eventually, though, the sun starts to set, and Adora knows she should head back. 

“Thanks for being there, Razz,” Adora says, standing—then immediately leans down to press a light kiss against Razz’s cheek. “I might end up back here sooner than Sunday. Is that okay?”

Razz couldn’t possibly look more pleased at the prospect. “Of course, dearie! Madame Razz loves company.” She gasps, as though excited by a sudden epiphany. “You should bring that sweet wife of yours too.” With a flap of a hand a short chuckle, Razz adds, “She always tells the funniest stories.”

Adora smiles. Razz is probably the only person in the universe beside Adora herself who refers to Catra as ‘sweet.’ But Razz instantly took a liking to Catra upon meeting her. And Catra took a liking to Razz in turn, and takes great pleasure in regaling Razz with stories of Catra and Adora’s antics, back in the Horde. Stories that make Razz squeal with laughter. 

“ _ I wish more adults in the Horde were like that, _ ” Catra once said to Adora, after visiting Razz. 

“ _ Like what?”  _ Adora asked in turn, laughing just a bit. “ _ Incredibly weird?” _

“ _ No _ ,” said Catra. “ _ Kind _ .  _ She’s just so nice and well… _ ” She sighed. “ _ I’m not used to it. _ ”

“Sure, Razz,” Adora replies. “I’ll ask Catra if she wants to join next time. 

With a short pat on Razz’s shoulder and few rock-cookies for the road (which Adora immediately dumps into a bush), Adora is on her way back to Bright Moon. She makes good time—arriving in the castle before sunset, meaning that it’s probably somewhere around a half-hour before when she promised to be back.

Though when Adora arrives in her bedroom, she’s greeted by a somewhat unexpected sight: Glimmer, sitting on Adora’s desk, and Catra perched on the bed, stroking Melog idly. 

Their eyes immediately snap to Adora’s face as she walks into the room. Adora blinks at them, confused. They’ve obviously been waiting for her, maybe have been for hours, but Adora can’t imagine why. She’s early, if anything, so it’s not like they should be keeping vigil for her arrival. 

“What’s going on?” Adora asks, glancing between them.

She’s unable to keep worry from creeping into the question. It’s just that...Catra and Glimmer just look so  _ grim _ , sitting here like this. Almost like they’re about to deliver some sort of bad news. Adora nearly finds herself fearing for Bow, or one of the other princesses, or any of their other friends—

But Adora’s panic is interrupted by Glimmer, who sighs loudly, shuts her eyes, and  _ teleports _ something into her own hand. 

At first, it’s too indistinguishable beneath the glare of Glimmer’s magic—utterly concealed by that glowing pink light. But when the glow fades, Adora sees a tiny faceted vial of some sort—clutched carefully between Glimmer’s index finger and thumb. 

Color glints and sloshes within the bottle—some sort of blood-red liquid. 

Glimmer gives the bottle a small shake—a flourish, even though it lacks enthusiasm. 

“Here it is, just as you wanted,” Glimmer says. “ _ Essence of Oblivion _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a twitter now! follow me [@chellethewriter](https://twitter.com/chellethewriter) for dumb she-ra jokes and updates about my writing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glimmer gives Adora some instructions.
> 
> Adora gives sleeping another try.
> 
> And sleeping brings some...unexpected side effects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Another chapter is here. This chapter is actually sorta happy! ...and also really not. Anyway sorry for duplicate notifications, ao3 would not show this fic's update in the index for whatever reason. 
> 
> Also sorry for not producing art for this chapter either...I'll try to find time to do that this week, but who knows if I'll get the chance with my homework quantities. If someone else would like to do art, though...👀 that would make me very happy.
> 
> In other news, I completed my 100k word goal in a single month for this fic. But unfortunately, it's still not finished. Getting close though. Thinking this fic will be somewhere close to 120-130k. Whoops.

Adora’s eyes widen at the sight of that tiny bottle.

“ _Essence of Oblivion,”_ Glimmer said.

But could it really be true? Could Glimmer have truly changed her mind so completely?

She stares at Glimmer, dumbstruck, then glances at Catra for confirmation. Catra is already staring back—a small, gentle smile curving across her lips. One that seeks to comfort, or encourage. And Adora is all too happy to smile back in relief.

“B-but,” Adora stammers, returning her attention to Glimmer’s anxious eyes, “you said that you wouldn’t—”

“Yeah, well,” Glimmer huffs, “luckily or unluckily for you, your wife—along with my _mother_ , for some reason—refused to take no for an answer. So...I was outvoted. But make no mistake. I still think this is a very, very bad idea.”

Adora’s vision briefly flits to Catra, in awe that she managed to accomplish this seemingly impossible feat.

“I don’t know what to say,” Adora says.

“Then use your words to agree to these instructions,” Glimmer commands, pointing to the vial with urgency. “You will drink this potion at midnight each night. No earlier. No later.”

Adora nods frantically. “Yeah, of course. I promise.”

“You will drink every drop,” Glimmer continues, “and not ask or attempt to find more. After eight hours, you will wake up. And that’s a full eight hours, down to the minute. Once you take the potion, there’s no waking until the eight hours are done. Not for anything. You won’t be able to wake even if you wanted to.”

Adora nods. “I understand.”

“Every night, I’ll deliver _one_ of these bottles. Just one. Do not skip a dose, and do not try to take two doses at once. As a condition for receiving this potion, Catra promised to monitor you for me, so I’ll know.”

“Okay,” says Adora. “I’ll do whatever you say. “

“I’m serious, Adora.”

“I’m serious too,” Adora replies somewhat impatiently. “Trust me, eight hours of sleep is more than I’ve gotten in months. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work. I mean that.”

Glimmer exhales deeply, then begins to nod. “Alright,” she says, and lays the vial upon the desk with a small _clink_. “I’ll visit in the morning to make sure you’re alright. Or, at least, to make sure that this hasn’t gone horribly wrong—”

Adora’s face splits into a grin and she surges forward, enveloping Glimmer in a tight hug—one that makes Glimmer groan with the force of her embrace.

“Thank you, Glimmer,” Adora says, pressing their cheeks together. “Thank you so much–”

“Yeah, yeah,” sighs Glimmer, rolling her eyes. “But like I said...I still think this is a _terrible_ idea. Like...really, really bad. So if something goes wrong, it is _not_ my fault—”

Adora nods again and squeezes more tightly. “Of course. And whatever happens, I’m so grateful, Glimmer. Really, you don't know _how_ grateful—”

In a flash of blinding pink, Glimmer teleports from Adora’s arms and reappears at the nearby door.

“Don’t thank me until it works,” Glimmer says, and gestures to the potion, still lying in that delicate vial on the desk. “Remember. Take the potion at midnight _exactly_.”

Adora nods.

“And make sure you’re lying down when you take it.”

Another nod.

“You won’t wake up until eight in the morning the next day.”

“Yeah,” says Adora, squinting. Maybe just a little bit irritated. “The Horde taught math, you know.”

“And make sure you go to the bathroom before that—there’ll be no waking up in the middle of the night to pee, or—”

“Oh my god,” Catra groans, pressing a hand into her own forehead. “She’s got it, okay? Stop nagging her and let her get ready for bed.”

“Sorry,” replies Glimmer, starting to shuffle from the room. “I’m just...nervous, okay?” Glimmer now looks back at Adora, her features softening into a strange mixture of affection, nervousness, and assurance. “Sweet dreams, Adora. Or...I mean...no dreams at all…?”

Adora shrugs. “Yeah, uh. ‘No dreams’ is sort of the point here.”

Glimmer releases a self-deprecating groan, and then— “Alright, fine. No dreams. Have a good night’s sleep, okay?”

And with that, she departs—shutting the door behind herself.

Adora turns back toward Catra on the bed. A glance at the clock on the wall tells her that it’s still early evening...meaning that she still has a long while to wait before she can take the potion.

“Bit too soon to wish me pleasant dreams,” Adora says, approaching the bed. “I mean, I still haven’t eaten dinner.”

Catra’s smile twists into something distinctly mischievous.

“I’m having it sent up to our room tonight,” says Catra. “Thought we could eat it in bed.”

Adora watches as Melog gives a short mewl, then launches themself from the bed—heading to one of the nearby windows. Effortlessly, they slip out into the burgeoning night, climbing down the walls of the castle with the same skill Catra’s always shown—not that the Bright Moon guards have ever appreciated Catra or Melog’s tendency to sink their claws into the architecture. 

Adora raises an eyebrow. When Melog leaves so abruptly, it usually only means one thing.

Catra stands—slinks, really—to a spot just in front of Adora. Her hands find Adora’s waist, and she uses that grip to pull Adora closer, until Adora’s body is flush against hers, eliciting a small gasp from Adora’s lips. It’s a wonderfully familiar feeling to press against Catra like this, their heartbeats mingling and hammering through the fabric of their clothes.

Adora can’t help but laugh as Catra hoists herself onto her tiptoes, struggling to brush her lips against Adora’s ear. It’s not easy, exactly, given the fact that Adora more-or-less towers over her wife’s small stature. But Adora appreciates it nonetheless—immensely enjoying the way Catra _stretches_ and _reaches_ to find Adora somewhere above her.

“I thought _maybe_ I could spend the next few hours tiring you out,” Catra whispers, stroking her fingers all along Adora’s hips. Which, Adora notes with some amusement, are far easier to reach.

Adora bites her lip. “I actually think the potion’s supposed to do that for me. That’s why Glimmer said to lie down before I—”

“So?” challenges Catra. Her hands begin to tug on Adora’s shirt, lifting it from where it’s tucked into her waistband. “There’s no reason I can’t help.”

Adora snorts, and winds an arm around Catra’s back. With Adora’s recent sleep troubles—and avoidance of beds and places meant for sleep in general—Catra and Adora have shared moments like these far less frequently than they used to. After all, Adora spends most nights at her desk, or even wandering the palace halls. Busy, always, just to keep herself distracted, and far from the temptations of sleep.

It’s something Adora feels guilty somewhat about—avoiding the bedroom whenever she can. Not that Catra’s ever complained. No, if anything, Catra has been far too understanding throughout it all. Always acting like Adora could do no wrong in her sleep-deprived state. Never initiating anything unless Adora did first.

And maybe that frightened Adora too, if she’s being honest. The fact that Catra seemed to consider Adora too fragile, or broken, to touch in the way Catra used to want.

But Adora still wants to. She wants to touch, and be touched. And finally, this potion gives Adora reason not to fear the bed they used to share each and every night.

“You do make an excellent point,” Adora remarks, yanking Catra even closer on the final word. “There’s no reason you can’t help.”

Catra gives a short hum.“Thought you’d agree.”

And then Catra is guiding Adora’s hands beneath her thighs. It’s practiced, the way Adora hoists Catra into her arms—into the air itself—while Catra folds her legs around Adora’s waist. Adora may be tired, but she has more than enough strength to lift Catra like this, and hold her tightly.

Deftly, Adora repositions her arms behind Catra’s back, utterly crushing their bodies together. Catra’s hands, meanwhile, link behind Adora’s neck as they kiss deeply, tongues lingering in each other’s mouths. With her eyes shut tight mid-kiss, Adora finally begins the stumble to the bed. It’s something they’ve done so many times before, and yet, Adora is relieved to even still be capable of it, given her recent unsteadiness.

“Thank you,” Adora murmurs, during the briefest of respites—a gasping breath taken just as Adora’s knees hit the mattress. She rests her forehead on Catra’s. “For talking to Glimmer—”

Catra just reaches up and kisses her again. “Don’t—thank—me,” Catra orders, punctuating each word with another bruising kiss. It’s evident that she’s just as desperate, just as worried, as Adora is. “—until—it—works.”

The words echo Glimmer’s exactly, but Adora has trouble accepting them in either case. Adora can still hardly believe that tonight might be her first good night’s sleep in months. It’s almost surreal to her now—the concept of falling asleep, staying asleep, and waking up beside Catra in the morning, so long after she first settled down to rest.

But Catra’s also right, in a way. They still don’t know whether the potion will work. And what if Adora’s suspicions are right? What if Chasm _did_ curse Adora somehow, or permanently damage whatever part of her brain that controls dreams? Will the potion just trap her in those terrible dreams for eight uninterrupted hours of misery—hours that will refuse Adora the minor reprieve of jolting upright in bed?

It’s a frightening thought—being trapped in her nightmares like that. 

Though it becomes increasingly difficult for Adora to fear such things when Catra slips warm hands beneath her shirt

“I can’t wait to wake up next to you,” Adora whispers, low and longing, before she can stop herself. Because, really, she can’t stop looking at Catra. The way she seems to smile as she kisses Adora, the way she utterly arches into every kiss, like no measure of closeness will ever be enough to satisfy her.

And Adora really does miss it. She misses lazy mornings tangled beneath the sheets with Catra, or the soft dozing of a late night, or even the warm, blanketing relief of the midday naps they sometimes shared.

Adora expects Catra’s laugh before it even rings through the bedroom. But it’s a full laugh, a loving and joyous one, and Adora can’t even find it within herself to feel embarrassed.

“God,” Catra snorts, and kisses Adora’s jaw. “All this sleep deprivation has made you corny.”

Adora only returns the laugh and drops herself onto the bed, dragging Catra down with her. She can’t really disagree.

* * *

She waits.

Waits minutes. Hours. Centuries. It’s too difficult, really, to distinguish increments of time. Ultimately, that word, _time_ , is meaningless to those who have never known the approaching deadline of mortality.

But from the second the potion dribbles down the girl’s throat, to the moment that interfering _brat_ of a wife finally drifts off to sleep, forced to abandon her careful, watchful monitoring in favor of her own exhaustion…

She waits.

She waits and waits, until there is no need to wait further. Until Catra has sunk into deep, relaxed sleep. Her dreams, buoyed by sated desire and misplaced hope.

And then Chasm makes her first move.

Cool moonlight seeps through nearby curtains, but doesn’t quite reach the bed. And Chasm can see them. The bed. The curtains. She can see each and every detail of their forms, as well as everything else in her surroundings, with eyes she opens and closes of her own volition.

And it’s something incredible—to actually see and feel and experience a room, rather than view the echo of its appearance. The soft sheets. The glittering ceiling. The gently curving architecture.

Chasm can hardly recall the last time she viewed the world with real eyes, her last host perished so long ago.

She also can’t remember whether it feels like anything—the kiss of moonlight upon skin. It’s been too long since she had skin to claim at all. Sunlight...she remembers that felt like something. Like warmth. Heat. Burning.

But moonlight? Moonlight, she can’t remember. All she has is stolen memories. And if she’s learned anything through the millenia, she knows that mortal memories cannot be trusted.

It was almost too much effort to do it—to crawl. To drag herself from that dark, cramped corner of Adora’s subconscious, plunging into the wider plane of her whole self. The girl’s body, as well as her mind.

But now she’s here. Finally, she is here, and in control. Just as she hoped—and planned—to be. Though it took far longer than Chasm anticipated for Adora to convince her friends to administer the potion. It is an old potion, after all. _Essence of Oblivion._ Older than Etheria, even. Old enough for Chasm to still recall what it does...and how to use it to her advantage.

But the dreams were enough, ultimately. To push Adora to her breaking point. To convince Adora to abandon her own mind in favor of this. Silence. Peace.

And a loss of control.

Too often, the girl’s waking mind is too loud, too overwhelming, for Chasm to seep beyond it. Sparking and shrieking with emotions and anxieties, all too powerful to quell or overcome.

Such is always the problem with a waking mind—the type of mind Chasm usually seeks to restrain within her illusions, lest she find herself confronted by the frenzied herd of conscious thinking. All those endless, enormous, indomitable thoughts crammed into the cavern of Adora’s head, suffocating Chasm with their loudness...

Chasm is powerful, yes. But not powerful enough to destroy an entire mind on a whim. The mortal mind is too willful. Too stubborn. If something seeks to break it, it will only grow stronger—determined to exist and learn from the threat.

So no. Chasm cannot attack. She can only trick, push, manipulate—and let the minds destroy themselves at her suggestion.

And it was always easy, so easy, to do that within the confines of Chasm’s conjured dreamworlds. To hijack her prey’s senses, to convince those she trapped to renounce existing, leaving Chasm free to gain control of their bodies. 

But another dreamworld is not an option in Adora’s case. Not without raising suspicion. Only during the quieting influence of dreams can Chasm even emerge to work her magic—twisting Adora’s senses and thoughts without any real means to seize control of them.

Until now, at least. Now, she has found something better than dreams. Now, it is blissfully silent. Like a large hall emptied of a screeching crowd—leaving only echoing walls and haunting architecture. A place free for Chasm to explore, and conquer.

It’s like Adora is gone. Completely and utterly removed from the equation, with only Chasm remaining in her place.

Chasm smiles. And miraculously, she feels Adora’s lips smile too. She tests the fingers, the toes. Flexing them carefully, allowing herself to grow accustomed to the body she occupies—without the fear of Catra waking and discovering what’s occurred.

Hours pass, and sunlight slowly mounts some distant horizon, drowning out the moonlight in its entirety. Which means that the potion is near the end of its use, and Adora’s mind will soon emerge from the blanket of full unconsciousness.

So for now, Chasm retreats. She has all the time in the world, after all. 

* * *

Catra wakes surrounded by an impossible, almost unfamiliar warmth.

_Almost_ unfamiliar. There’s an arm slung over Catra’s waist, a body pressed into her back. It’s been months since Catra has woken to a sensation like this one—this sensation of being wrapped in another’s warmth—and _Etheria_ , she has missed it.

Excitement shakes all grogginess from Catra’s mind. It’s certainly Adora’s body, curled around hers. And if Adora is still here, still in bed and holding Catra within her arms, then that could only mean...

Carefully, Catra wriggles around within the half-circle of that arm, trying to turn over without being too disruptive. Not, of course, that Adora should be roused by any movement of Catra’s—not if the potion is working correctly. The clock’s smaller hand is still only about halfway to 8.

But Catra can hardly help this instinct—the instinct to preserve Adora’s sleep at all costs. The only thing that overcomes it is the need to see this miracle for herself, so she keeps shimmying, keeps turning over until—

Catra finds herself face to face with Adora. Adora, whose hair has fallen all over her face, and whose eyes have been crusted shut. As Catra watches, Adora’s chest continues to rise and fall at a steady, peaceful pace. Like someone fast asleep.

No, not _like_ someone fast asleep. Adora is asleep. Asleep, and restfully so. Asleep, finally. Asleep, for the first time in months.

Catra’s face splits into a euphoric grin. It worked. She can’t believe it worked. After everything they tried, all the treatments and sleep studies and potions, finally _something_ worked.

Catra can do nothing but lie there, staring at Adora, as the minutes continue to tick by. Admiring the slackness of her features and body. The tangle of her hair. The now-fading dark circles beneath her eyes.

Only yesterday, those circles were so dark, and growing darker still. But bathed in this morning light, with her eyes closed and lips parted in gentle unconsciousness, Adora is practically _glowing_ within Catra’s sight.

Absently, she strokes her thumb against Adora’s sun-warmed cheek. Adora doesn’t react at all, just keeps sleeping—and though the potion’s nature still makes Catra nervous...she thinks that so long as Adora wakes, it will be more than worth it.

God, Catra is so damn happy. So damn relieved. She remembers last night, when midnight finally arrived. Adora popped the cork on the vial and downed the potion in a few eager gulps, though her face twisted at the flavor.

“ _What’s it like_?” Catra asked.

“ _Sickly sweet,_ ” said Adora, features still scrunched up in displeasure. “ _And...coppery.”_

After that, though, it took only a few minutes for the potion to take full effect. Adora barely had enough time to arrange herself around Catra before she fell into deep unconsciousness, snoring softly into Catra’s neck.

Slowly, the clock’s second hand lurches closer and closer to that topmost notch. Closer. Closer. And finally—

Catra watches as Adora shifts slightly, releasing a contented humming noise that makes Catra’s heart stutter with affection. Catra has always loved the sight of Adora in bed with her, but this is something different—something akin to a morning years ago, after Bright Moon was rebuilt and they shared their first night ever in this room. She remembers waking, disoriented, to find herself in Adora’s arms. But as relief flooded her veins, she could only watch the sweet progression of Adora’s waking. The stretching of Adora’s limbs, the fluttering of Adora’s eyelids as they slowly cracked open.

That was probably the first time Catra had ever woken up before Adora, early riser that Adora is. And this is the first time since.

And sure enough, this instance is just as mesmerizing. Adora’s lips part, a small groan escaping as her back arches in a waking stretch. Her eyelids scrunch up a bit, like wakefulness is a sudden and unwelcome surprise. Though she seems to relax a little when she feels Catra’s hand against her cheek, and she nuzzles blindly into the touch.

“Hey, princess,” Catra greets. “Did you have pleasant dreams?”

Blue eyes finally slide open. Adora simply stares for several moments, blinking as though confused to find herself in bed.

And then her eyes pull wide. Her jaw drops open. She shoots up in bed, practically flinging her arm off of Catra in the process, and Catra can’t help but grumble just a bit at the loss of Adora’s warmth—

“I slept through the night?” Adora gasps, glancing about the room like it might dissolve at any moment. “Like...the _whole night_?”

Catra smirks. “You sure did.”

Adora presses a hand to her own chest, as though trying to still her own heartbeat. “And I didn’t…I didn’t dream?”

“Well,” says Catra, “you’re the only one who can answer that question.”

A few moments pass as Adora seems to process that. The hand falls from her chest. And then, gradually, Adora’s lips spread into a smile. A giddy, disbelieving, utterly relieved smile.

“I didn’t dream,” beams Adora, shaking her head like nothing could be better than that prospect—the prospect of not dreaming, never dreaming again. Her giddiness is so insuppressible, her whole body seems to be vibrating. “I mean...I was just asleep. Asleep, and then I woke up. And not because I was scared, or upset but because...well…” She turns to Catra, features softening into deep gratitude. “It was time to wake up.”

Adora draws closer to Catra then, face leaning forward until their noses bump. Her excitement feels like a physical presence—an electricity. An energy that makes Adora glow like the magic beacon she truly is.

“And there was nothing?” Catra asks, returning Adora’s smile with equal excitement. “Not even a little nightmare?”

Adora shakes her head and keeps smiling, keeps leaning in. Sighing happily, she adds, “It was just...nothing. Complete, _incredible_ nothing.”

And then, without further elaboration, Adora surges forward, capturing Catra’s lips in a kiss that positively _steals_ Catra’s breath from her lungs. Adora has always been an excellent kisser as far as Catra’s concerned, but this is something different. A giddy, dizzying, euphoric kiss with scraping teeth and searching tongue. The likes of which Catra hasn’t experienced since they had first made it back from that plane between worlds, and Adora sought to convince herself that Catra was alive, and well, and still hers—

When Adora finally pulls away, Catra can only gasp for air and lie there, brain-addled, for several seconds. “Uh...wow?” Catra rasps, voice unreliable as she seeks to recollect her thoughts. “What was that for?”

“That was a thank you,” Adora says, eyes half-lidded with lazy desire. “You said I couldn’t thank you until it worked. And it did that. It _worked._ ” She repositions herself until she’s straddling Catra’s waist completely—hovering over Catra with that glowing smile, arms braced against Catra’s chest. “I feel amazing, Catra,” she laughs, adding, “I think I literally forgot what it was like to exist without a headache.”

“Incredible what a full night’s sleep can do,” replies Catra with a smirk, resting her hands on Adora’s waist and holding tight.

Adora laughs again, stroking through the fur along Catra’s sides and stomach. Catra gasps as a bit as the hands start to slide teasingly higher, toward her chest.

“So…” says Catra, giggling in a way that is _definitely_ embarrassing, but she just doesn’t care. She just wants to surrender to Adora’s eager touch. “What are you planning on doing with all this renewed energy?”

Adora hums like she’s considering the question deeply. It’s been too long since Catra has seen Adora like this, all playful and enlivened by the prospect of spending a morning in bed together. “I’m thinking that maybe…” She keeps smiling suggestively as she strokes along Catra’s naked sides. “I would try turning into She-Ra...just because I feel up to it…”

Catra’s eyebrows shoot up. “She-Ra?”

“Uh-huh,” says Adora, and leans down until their bare chests are pressed together, eliciting a groan from Catra’s lips. “And then, _if_ you’re interested—”

“I’m interested,” Catra replies, instantly. Blurting the words like they’re _leaping_ from her throat.

At that, Adora’s smile broadens into something downright wicked, something that causes heat to spark and pool in that spot just beneath Catra’s stomach.

Between their bodies, Adora’s hand finally starts to fulfill some of the promises it made before, with all that teasing. “Good,” Adora says. “Because...with She-Ra’s help...I was hoping to _completely_ and _utterly_ ta—”

_SLAM._

“Is she awake? Did the potion work?” comes Glimmer’s desperate, fearful voice. “Please tell me it worked!”

And suddenly, Glimmer is there. Glimmer is there, in the bedroom.

Catra screams in surprise and _frustration_ at this Glimmer-shaped delay in their enjoyment of the morning. Adora, meanwhile, gives a yelp and scrambles under the covers, hiding her nakedness.

“For Etheria’s sake!” Glimmer exclaims, catching only a glimpse before she cups a hand over her eyes. “I guess that means she is, in fact, _awake_.” And then, grumbling, she adds, “Too awake, if anything.”

“What part of _knocking_ have you not processed over the years?” demands Catra, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. Truly, it took too long to teach Glimmer not to teleport into their bedroom. This time she used the door, at least—though some warning would have been nice before it slammed open.

Glimmer throws up her arms in outrage but continues looking away. “I told you I’d be checking in on her in the morning! I guess I didn’t realize Adora would be trying a deadly potion _in the nude_. Or that she’d spend her first moments of consciousness after it wore off trying to f—”

“Welp, I’m definitely awake!” announces Adora loudly, with a nervous laugh. “And I didn’t have any dreams at all. So thank you—”

“And there’s no weird side effects?” Glimmer asks. “You don’t feel dizzy or nauseous or sleepy?”

“Nope,” says Adora with a head shake. “I feel incredible. Better than I’ve felt in months.”

“And you’re sure?”

Adora nods. “Positive. And we’re both fully covered now, by the way.”

Glimmer lowers her hand and raises an eyebrow. “And I shouldn’t be like...researching if increased sex drive is some sort of side effect?”

“I mean, if it is,” Catra says, with a smirk in Adora’s direction, “I’m _sure_ we’ll manage just fine.”

Which earns her a glare and a swift elbow to the ribs from Adora.

“Glimmer,” says Adora. “I really can’t thank you enough. The potion was better than I even thought it would be. I didn’t dream at all, and I woke exactly when you said I would—”

Glimmer releases a massive sigh. “Well, I’m glad it worked.”

“And…” Adora continues, “can I try it again tonight? I don’t think I can go back to staying up all night. Not after getting sleep again, finally.”

Glimmer nods. “I’ll brew another batch. But the same rules will apply. Take it at midnight while lying down—”

“—wake up at eight on the dot,” Adora finishes, nodding. “Got it.”

“Now would you leave our bedroom, please?” Catra begs, gesturing to the door, then to her wife beside her. “Adora was just about to summon She-Ra to—”

“Oh my god,” groans Glimmer, once again covering her eyes. “I do _not_ need the details. I’ll drop off another bottle this afternoon, you freaks.”

And with that and a flash of pink light, she disappears—having finally teleported out of the room.

Once she’s gone, Catra tugs Adora back on top of her, smiling impatiently. “Now...what exactly were you saying before?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REMEMBER TO COMMENT OR KUDOS PLEASE
> 
> also please check out the beautiful art of this chapter by [@heycatrqdora](https://twitter.com/heycatrqdora) on twitter!
> 
> [ ](https://twitter.com/heycatrqdora/status/1358329118081699840)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora gets her shit together (for now).  
> Catra suggests that they plan a vacation.   
> And Chasm plans...something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all! thanks so much for over 60 comments last chapter! sorry for the continuing agony but that's kinda my brand now so i'm just gonna roll with it
> 
> also writing chasm's voice is very very scary because i haven't written from a villain's perspective in a long time
> 
> ANYWAY please remember to comment or kudos because i crave validation constantly and i'm not even a little bit ashamed about it. also i want to create art for this chapter but idk if i'll have the time...i think im improving but i def have a long way to go

Night falls once more. And with it, Adora’s mind again tumbles into some sort of quiet abyss—one that is unfathomable in depth, and empty of everything save an opaque surrounding darkness.

Not, of course, that Adora is aware of such a tumble, or such an abyss. When the potion works its magic each night, Adora ceases to sense or think or feel at all. Instead, she is completely silent. Silent and silenced until those eight hours are complete, and the potion finally permits Adora to wake.

It is in those hours that Chasm finds freedom. Freedom from Adora’s deafening thoughts and, more importantly, freedom to occupy Adora’s body as if it were her own. Only with Adora muted by the potion can Chasm maintain control of these eyes, these hands, these legs, and treat them as if they truly belong to her.

By now, she has learned how to leave the bed without notice. She’s mastered the careful balancing of Adora’s limbs as she lifts them from Catra’s body, disentangling their legs, rolling off the mattress in such a way that the bed doesn’t shift too noticeably beneath that cat-like _thing_ they call a pet.

She steps, barefoot, out of direct view of the bed, coming to stand beside one of the windows. She lifts her hand for what feels like the millionth time, concentrating with all her might on the memories she stole from Adora, the mental instructions on how to summon this form of magic, a form that Chasm herself has never yet experienced—

“ _For the Honor of Grayskull_ ,” Chasm whispers, using Adora’s lips to form the words—her hand still raised in the air, casting shadows against the moonlight. It’s a desperate attempt, she knows, but it’s all she has left—

* * *

Adora will never take sleep for granted again.

Every morning, she wakes from a night of dreamless sleep—blissful, _incredible_ , dreamless sleep. Sleep that holds no nightmares, no misery, no visions of losing the people she loves.

And it’s something miraculous—to sleep under the effects of the potion. One moment, she is nodding off to sleep, the moon at its peak in the night sky. The next, she is squinting awake—the eight hours already past, and the sunlight streaming gold through the curtains.

And Adora cannot get enough; she cannot stop reveling in the peacefulness of it all—this sensation of Catra lying beside her, cradled within Adora’s arms. This feeling of sinking into bed, into sleep, without the fear that she might sink too deep, and begin to drown.

It takes several days, but slowly, Adora begins to recognize herself again. The dark circles—the ones that pooled around her eyes for months upon months—fade entirely. Her body ceases to feel like such a weight, such a burden upon her legs and shoulders. It’s easy, even, to walk and carry herself without those horrific nightmares filling her mind. Lead weights, each and every one of them, now dissolved to nothing at all.

She finally finds the energy to take better care of herself—to detangle her hair, or properly wash and dewrinkle her clothes.

And for the first time in ages, she believes Catra. Adora believes Catra when she leans in close, fingers stroking against Adora’s cheeks, and whispers, “ _You’re so damn beautiful. You know that, right?”_

Because it _is_ beautiful to live, to exist, to sleep and wake and enjoy these other moments, the ones where she’s laughing with her wife and her friends. No longer does she struggle to turn into She-Ra, or ride Swift Wind. And no longer does she feel so fragile, so on the brink of collapsing into tiny, thoughtless, irrational pieces—so frightened was she that Chasm left nothing of Adora sturdy enough to last.

“You know...” begins Catra one night, over yet another dinner shared in their bedroom. Something that they ordered special from the kitchen over a bottle of wine. “...our one-year anniversary is in only a few weeks.”

Adora smirks at her and keeps sipping her drink. “Uh-huh.”

“And I was thinking…” continues Catra, winding arms around Adora’s middle, “since we’ve finally got a handle on this dream thing, maybe we could go somewhere special?”

An eyebrow raised, Adora asks, “Where did you have in mind?”

* * *

Another night, another failure.

There’s nothing. No matter how many times Chasm utters those ridiculous words, _For the Honor of Grayskull_ , there’s nothing. Nothing at all. Not even a spark of glowing magic, or a flicker of power in Adora’s muscles.

Within Adora’s head, she curses. Chasm has attempted this every night since Adora started taking the potion. Attempted, again and again, to summon She-Ra—the glowing sword and immeasurable power—only to fail unceasingly.

Chasm fears that she may have miscalculated. All this time, she assumed that She-Ra was merely a power held within Adora. A weapon to be wielded by some chosen person. And truly, what else was Chasm to believe, when she had never once encountered She-Ra’s spirit here, in the corners of Adora’s mind?

No. She-Ra had to be some thoughtless, soulless thing. A power, and nothing more.

And so long as that was the case...if Adora was merely the vessel that carried and controlled the power that is She-Ra...then Chasm could wrest that control from Adora. Steal it, essentially, so long as she removed Adora from the equation. She could gain control of She-Ra. Gain control of near-limitless strength and power, the likes of which could protect Chasm from any more unwanted imprisonments, defeats, or attempts to obliterate Chasm from the fabric of the universe. Never again would she suffer what she has already suffered throughout the eons of her existence.

But now she fears that her plans—or rather, her means to achieve them—are more complicated than she anticipated.

Her worst fear is the one she suspects to be true. Perhaps when Adora takes the potion, it doesn’t just silence Adora. It doesn’t leave only She-Ra’s power behind, and Chasm’s mind to claim it.

Perhaps She-Ra is tied to Adora in mind, body, and soul. Bonded. Inseparable. One and the same. Enjoined, so that when Chasm silences Adora, She-Ra is silenced and stifled as well—rendering She-Ra’s power irretrievable by Chasm’s grasping hands.

Leaving Chasm standing here in the dead of night, in Adora’s body. Unable to so much as taste what she worked endlessly to gain.

* * *

“We could always just go to Mystacor again,” says Catra, reclining back against Adora’s desk. She stares, amused, at the veritable conspiracy board that Adora has mounted on the wall—one filled with photos of potential locations, each one accompanied by index cards that describe what each place contains. “I mean, it was great for our honeymoon.”

“But that’s boring,” complains Adora as she pins yet another image to the wall. “We can’t do the same vacation spot for every single relationship milestone.”

“From what I recall, Mystacor was _far_ from boring,” Catra says. “For example...the night after Glimmer’s induction might have been the best of my life. Do you even still have that dress?”

“What, the red one?”

“Well, the _other, other_ red one. The long one with the gold—”

Adora snorts and pins yet another image to the wall. “Oh, that one. By some miracle, yeah, I still have it—considering that you nearly _clawed_ through it last time.”

Catra bites her lip and pictures the way it looked—that dress. The way the bodice clung tight to Adora’s torso, plunging low enough to accentuate Adora’s curves while revealing the taut muscles of her back and shoulders. “You should bring it.”

Glancing back at Catra, Adora says, “Help me figure out where we’re going—someplace that’s _not_ Mystacor—and maybe I will.”

“Fine,” grumbles Catra. She sighs and hangs her head. “So what are the options?”

Adora smiles and steps back, gesturing enthusiastically to various sections on the board. “So this is the planet Castis. It has beautiful beaches and luscious forests—”

“Beaches like...with water? Or with clouds, like in Mystacor?”

“Water.”

Catra wrinkles her nose. “Gross. Pass.”

“Okay,” says Adora, deftly removing that card and photo pair from the board. “Castis is out.” She gestures, now, to an image of a sprawling jungle with vibrant wildflowers. “This is Solea, known for its lovely vegetation—including a billion different species of flowers. We could explore the rainforests—”

“Sounds like a place Scorpia and Perfuma would like,” Catra remarks. “But not so much of a perfect place for us.”

“Alrighty,” says Adora, and takes down that option as well. “Onto the next. What about this place? Nacrilles. It’s a planet covered in snow, which means lots of cuddling by the fire—”

Catra makes a gagging noise. “If I wanted cold, I’d go to the Northern Reach.”

* * *

Chasm cannot understand it. She will never have—and never want—such a bond for herself. Chasm would never relinquish herself to another’s mind. Never, ever. So why would She-Ra? Why would something so powerful surrender itself so completely to the whims of another—?

Rage spikes through every particle of Chasm’s being at the very thought.

Because it can’t be true. It _can’t_. She has devoted too much time, too much effort to securing Adora as a host. She can’t now abandon her ambitions in favor of possessing some powerless nearby Etherian.

And there are so many of them, of course. So many Etherians to whom Chasm has spread, due to their encounters with Adora. Though Chasm has done nothing but lurk in their minds for the time being, rather than trap them in her usual illusions. A group of fallbacks, of sorts, while she’s been too determined to do this—to trick Adora into relinquishing control of She-Ra.

An endeavor that has now failed miserably.

So what can Chasm do? She cannot let She-Ra walk free. Not when she poses such an enormous threat to Chasm’s existence, with all that raw magical power. Even Adora herself has proven a threat, what with her recent obsession with finding wards against Chasm.

She supposes that she could simply trap Adora in another dreamworld, just like the one before. Chasm is still attached to Adora, after all. Still able to smother Adora beneath the blanket of a convincing dreamworld, and an inescapable sleep.

But Adora would be unlikely to fall for it twice. And she would be even more unlikely to let Chasm gain complete control. She’d notice the patterns she dismissed the first time—learn from her mistakes. And if Adora becomes fully aware that she’s trapped within an illusion, it would only be a drain on Chasm’s magic to keep Adora under her spell.

And that won’t even solve the threat that Catra poses, Chasm thinks. Catra and Angella both.

She glances at Catra, still snoring lightly on the nearby bed. Unaware that her wife—or rather, wife’s body—has escaped from her embrace.

Catra and Angella pose a...unique problem, one that Chasm hasn’t encountered before. Never before had Chasm been weak enough to let two victims slip from her grasp. But ever since Angella and Catra managed to oust Chasm from their minds, Chasm hasn’t been able to reattach herself to them. Not like she can with the other Etherians—whose minds she can invade as easily as one might walk into the ocean.

Now, whatever new connections Chasm attempts with Catra and Angella simply...dissolve. Like sand disintegrating beneath the tides. Like the foundation just isn’t there, like it just won’t support Chasm’s power—

It must have something to do with how they escaped her clutches—something to do with how they discovered the nature of her illusion, and thrust Chasm from their minds. Chasm barely managed to hold on to Adora by stealing enough magic to secure and solidify the connection. But Catra and Angella now seem to be resistant, somehow. Their minds adjusted and immune to her attempts to infect them in any permanent capacity.

And Chasm cannot forget, of course, that Catra once successfully chose to reenter Chasm’s illusion, with Angella’s help. Using Chasm’s own spells against her, slipping back into the very illusion designed to defeat Adora completely. So determined was Catra to deny Chasm her victory.

So Catra wreaked utter havoc on that illusion—unable to be stopped or affected by Chasm’s power. Immune, in the same way her real body is now.

And Chasm hates that, especially. She hates the idea that she can be overcome, outsmarted. No one should be able to escape Chasm and claim themselves her enemy. And _especially_ no one should have that kind of power over Chasm’s own illusions.

Chasm supposes she could kill them now, using Adora’s hands. Catra and Angella both. It wouldn’t be terribly difficult. Adora’s body is strong on her own, even without She-Ra.

But that won’t defend Chasm from the fact that this planet is filled with sorcerers. Sorcerers who may very well be warded against her magicks, according to Adora’s own research—research that Chasm has been avidly eavesdropping on.

Two of such sorcerers live in this very castle, and one even sleeps next to Angella. Which means that Chasm cannot dispatch Catra nor Angella without finding herself trapped by a group of magic-wielders immune to her power—

She needs more power. Power that neither Angella nor Catra nor _sorcerers_ can escape. Power that proves, once and for all, that she can’t be defeated, destroyed, sent away to some empty place to suffer in purgatory for all eternity—

Chasm needs strength. She needs She-Ra.

But how can she gain control of She-Ra, if she must leave Adora’s mind intact?

There must be something, something she can do—

But her thoughts are interrupted by a sharp glare into Adora’s eyes. The sun, risen again, but barely just. Which means that Chasm has again run out of time.

Time—the very thing Chasm should never have to fear—has become yet another enemy to worry about.

* * *

“So…” Bow says, glancing up at Catra from a stack of blueprints. “Have you decided on your vacation locale yet?”

Catra doesn’t look up from her own set of files—namely, a report by the engineers Bright Moon hired to handle infrastructure improvements. So far, these engineers have run severely delayed and over budget—resulting in Glimmer and Bow reexamining their contract.

Catra offered to help determine whether the engineers were being truthful in their claims of “no misuse of funds.” Catra, after all, oversaw many different tasks in the Horde, including the engineering of buildings and machinery, so she actually does have some expertise in this matter.

Expertise that tells Catra that something’s amiss. With a report this long and filled with so much useless jargon, these engineers surely must be hiding something—

“Catra?”

Finally, Catra shakes her attention from the papers and looks up. “Hm?”

“Your vacation with Adora,” Glimmer says, glancing briefly at Bow. “Have you decided where you’re going? Adora said you were heading off planet.”

“Oh,” says Catra, thumbing through the paper stack. “That. We’re still deciding, but right now it’s between Antares and Sutera.”

“Antares?” echoes Bow, smiling in wistful surprise. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “I almost forgot about that place. How long has it been since we visited there?”

“Visited?” demands Catra in amused disbelief. “We were stranded there. And then Adora had to fight—”

“General Sunder. I remember,” says Glimmer, then releases a loud snort at the memory. “God, what a _doofus_. Do you remember his armor?”

“Yup,” recalls Bow. “And he looked especially stupid when Adora completely kicked his butt.”

Another snort from Glimmer, followed by a sigh. “ _Classic_.”

“Well, Sunder’s humiliation aside,” Catra continues, “the parts of Antares that we saw, however briefly, were pretty beautiful. So we thought it couldn’t hurt to explore more.”

“And what about Sutera?” Bow asks. “I’ve never even heard of that planet.”

“It’s small. Smaller than Etheria, even. But apparently there’s lots of nice architecture and ruins and places to hike,” explains Catra. “The people are really eager to have She-Ra visit, though, so we’d be staying with one of the planet’s rulers or something. Which would be pretty fancy, I guess.”

“Antares didn’t offer something similar?”

“Oh no,” says Catra with a scoff. “They didn’t seem too eager to have She-Ra back at all. Not after the fight between Adora and Sunder.” Catra smirks. “But hey, that’ll make it more fun, if you ask me. Being feared by the populace to some degree. I’m kinda tired of the hero treatment, to be honest.”

Glimmer raises an eyebrow. “And I’ll assume you’ll need several doses of Adora’s potion for the road?”

Catra shoots Glimmer an innocent smile. “Probably, yeah.”

Glimmer gives a sigh—though it’s only mockingly aggrieved. “I suppose I could brew up several vials. But you’ll have to make sure she takes only one at a time.”

Catra snorts. “Trust me. We both know the drill by now. _Essence of Oblivion_ is the potion we live by. It’s _literally_ all that keeps Adora asleep at night.”

“Oh—by the way, I mean to ask you,” Glimmer begins, smile fading as she sits up straighter in her chair. The way she always does when she’s conducting queenly business. “Have you seen Cleo at all lately?”

Cleo. Adora’s guard. Catra hasn’t seen her—or heard about her—since the night before Adora started taking the potion. And if Adora hasn’t complained about her recently, it can only mean that she’s removed herself from Adora’s day to day activities. 

Catra shakes her head. “Not lately. Though Adora hasn’t had much need for a guard. Not now that she’s able to stay awake, or turn into She-Ra on command.”

“Hmm…” Glimmer flips to the next page of her blueprints. “Weird. She hasn’t been showing up for duty the past couple days. ”

Bow scratches his chin and adds, “From what I’ve heard, it’s been like that with a few of the guards. Juliet told me that a bunch have been out for the last week. Maybe it’s some kind of cold or something?”

“Maybe,” says Glimmer, though she doesn’t sound convinced. “Or maybe we need to hold a workshop on responsibility. I mean, just because She-Ra’s back in commission doesn’t mean that they can slack off—”

“Speaking of which,” Catra huffs, and throws down the engineers’ report—which she finally finished reading. “These guys are _totally_ ripping you off. You need new infrastructure people stat.”

Glimmer presses her hands to her face and groans.

Bow sighs and crosses his arms. Grumbling, he adds, “Maybe we should take a vacation, too.”

* * *

Frantically, Chasm searches the collection of memories she stole from Adora. She seeks a detail, any detail, that might offer a solution to her problems—that might provide her with a way to gain control of this power that seems too far outside her grasp.

And somewhere from the murk rises...a memory. One of Adora’s most traumatic, it seems. Adora, holding a sword—her first sword. Large-faced. Glinting. Crystalline. The weapon created by those Adora naively calls “the First Ones,” simply because she never learned their proper name.

The sword that nearly lifted to the heavens and obliterated the universe. The sword that sought to weaponize and control She-Ra, forcing her to do as the First Ones ordered.

Somehow, they managed that. These “First Ones’ managed to craft a weapon that controlled who She-Ra bonded with, and how she used her magic.

A sword that Adora—in resistance to their will—barely managed to smash into pieces. A sword that Adora kept, for some unfathomable reason, all throughout the war with Horde Prime. And one that she keeps even now, tucked away in a box in Adora’s closet.

Chasm smirks. There might be hope yet, she thinks.

No. More than hope. An opportunity. One better than she even thought possible.

She stands there for a while, considering. Recalling. Planning. There’s so much she doesn’t know now, given how much time she spent trapped in that plane between worlds. So much has changed. But surely Chasm knows enough—

The mattress creaks as Catra shifts, an arm thrown out in search of Adora beside her. “...dora?” Catra mumbles, still more than half asleep. Chasm recognizes that she has less than a minute to rectify this before Catra gains any more awareness—less than a minute to climb back into bed and pretend to be Adora, cradling Catra in her arms.

But it’s no matter. She has a plan now, at least. One to deal with She-Ra, and Adora, and even Catra too.

And all she needs to do...is find the one thing that Adora refuses to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did a shameless plug for my fic [lucky jacket](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24936499) in this chapter with the bit that references the planet antares. go read that if you like post-canon space-faring adventures. 
> 
> and please check out this [wonderful art](https://twitter.com/assylamsh/status/1355289131895697415?s=20) for anachronism by [assylamsh](https://twitter.com/assylamsh) on twitter!
> 
> until next week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra sees something strange.
> 
> Adora changes the vacation plans.
> 
> And Catra asks Glimmer and Entrapta some questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I again failed to create art for this chapter because school is slowly destroying my will to live but what else is new. Maybe I'll have something later in the week, or for next chapter. 
> 
> Also thank you for helping this fic reach 500 kudos! it's always really difficult to get people to read and interact with sequels so I really really appreciate all the comments and kudos this fic has gotten. maybe one day soon i'll actually have a decided chapter count for y'all, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. 
> 
> But also please continue to comment!! it's my only source of serotonin during the school year

A creaking floorboard.

While Catra tends to sleep deeply, her hearing is sensitive—able to detect sounds and frequencies that few other people can.

And tonight, her sleep simply isn’t deep enough to mute her senses. Not since Catra jolted awake from a recent nightmare. It was nothing special; one of her usual stock—a dream involving Horde Prime’s attempt to torture and chip her. Frightening, yes, but not enough to keep her wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling. She barely opened her eyes before sinking back into some sort of half-sleeping state.

But as Catra drifts into a deeper sleep, and the dream slowly dissolves within her memory...

She hears a creak. The creak of a floorboard.

And so she cracks open a single eye.

From where she lies, Catra can see Melog curled at the foot of the bed, their magic glowing cool blue in the darkness. Asleep. Meaning that they’re not the source of the noise, as Catra would normally suspect.

Catra inhales deeply, just as a precaution. She searches the room for any unfamiliar smells—the kind that would indicate the presence of some sort of intruder. Someone unexpected moving about the room. But there’s nothing there, nothing odd. Just Adora and Melog, same as always.

Huh. Maybe Catra imagined it. Or maybe the palace is old enough that the floorboards squeak on their own—

But that’s when Catra notices that her back is cold. Cold, without the usual warmth of Adora’s arms draped around her body, or Adora’s chest pressed against Catra’s back.

Though it’s not entirely unprecedented for Catra to discover herself like this—chilled by the night and deprived of Adora’s arms. Catra has a tendency to toss and turn during her nightmares. And sometimes, if she grows too agitated, she’ll ultimately yank herself from Adora’s warm embrace.

Which leaves her like this. Shivering, and annoyed, with a hand braced out in a searching sweep behind herself, hoping to locate Adora by touch and then simply scoot herself backward.

If Catra really did toss and turn so violently, she can only hope that she didn’t accidentally knee or elbow Adora in the process. Adora is more prone to sleep-fighting than Catra is...but Catra has had a few episodes of her own. And if tonight was one of them, Adora wouldn’t be able to complain beneath the potion’s influence, and the last thing Catra wants is for Adora to wake up with some sort of mysterious bruise—

But as she searches with her hand, waving it blindly behind herself...she slowly realizes that there’s nothing. Nothing to feel. Nothing to touch. Nothing, except for wrinkled sheets and icy blankets. No body, no warmth.

And suddenly, she notices that even Adora’s scent is distant. Distant, like she hasn’t occupied the bed in some time.

Both of Catra’s eyes fly open, glowing blue-and-yellow in the darkness. Her head jerks—neck craning—as she seeks to examine the spot behind her, her thoughts jumbled at the prospect of Adora’s apparent absence.

But as her eyes find the untucked sheets, deflated and lying loose on the mattress—completely devoid of a body besides Catra’s own—she can only gape. Only _gasp_ , with horror broiling deep in her core.

Because, there on Adora’s side of the bed...is nothing. Nothing, and no one.

Adora is gone.

Catra’s breath skitters. She doesn’t understand. It’s impossible. Or, at least, it _should_ be—

Frantic, Catra’s eyes flit about the room. Bouncing off every inch of floor and dresser and tabletop. Nowhere within sight does she find Adora, or any trace of her at all. There’s only stillness. Only silence.

As far as Catra can tell, she is completely and utterly alone.

And it doesn’t make sense. Adora is under the potion’s influence. She can’t move, can’t leave the bed. So did someone take her? Did someone drag her from the bed while she was unconscious, kidnapping Adora from right under Catra’s nose—?

But then Catra hears another sound. A shuffling noise from nearby. Nearby...within the closet, she thinks. The one carved into the same wall that abuts the bed. And _god_ it’s frustrating—the fact Catra can’t see into that closet from this angle. Not without getting up and standing directly in front of it.

Perhaps it’s the kidnapper, the one who took Adora—returned to steal something else. Glimmer did say that several guards failed to show up to their shifts. Maybe someone is taking advantage of that. Maybe someone intends to use this lapse in security to hold She-Ra for ransom. It wouldn’t even be the first time, much to Catra’s frustration.

But Adora is especially defenseless like this, with her mind smothered by the potion until morning—

Catra lies back down—pretending to be asleep. She resolves to ambush this intruder as they emerge from the closet. Catch them off guard and demand they reveal where they took Adora.

As she settles herself back into some semblance of a sleeping position, she leaves one eye squinted open—but only barely just. Just enough to see, but not enough to be seen.

And then...when a figure does _finally_ emerges from the closet…passing carefully beneath the doorframe—

Catra realizes that it’s not some random kidnapper. It’s not even a stranger at all. It’s—

_Adora_?

Adora, walking around. Adora, meandering barefoot toward the bed. She’s wearing her usual nightclothes—gray shorts and a tank top, her hair mussed and pillow-rumpled as it falls across her shoulders.

But that’s all Catra can see from this angle. She can’t get a good look at Adora’s face. Not like this, not without craning her neck.

And for some reason...Catra feels like she shouldn’t move. It’s a strange instinct. This urge to stay still, stay frozen, for fear of drawing a predator’s notice.

But that doesn’t make sense either. It’s just Adora. Adora, who Catra loves. Adora, who Catra would do basically _anything_ for.

But it doesn’t matter. Not now. Catra can only lie there—still and squinting—as she feels Adora crawl back beneath the covers. And it strikes Catra as strange—the caution, the steadiness of Adora’s movements. Catra barely feels the brush of Adora’s skin as she climbs into bed and rearranges herself around Catra, occupying the exact position she did earlier that night, right after she gulped down the potion.

Catra’s whole body remains tense with confusion and disbelief. She can’t believe it. Can’t fathom it. It doesn’t make sense that Adora was moving, and _upright_ , and _walking around_. Adora shouldn’t be able to do that—she shouldn’t be able to do anything at all with the potion in her system. She should be unable form a thought, let alone a late-night urge to explore their closet.

So what was that? What _was_ that?

Was Adora sleepwalking, somehow? Is that even possible for someone taking _Essence of Oblivion_?

Catra doesn’t know. She can’t even begin to guess, or understand.

And she can’t begin to sleep, either. Not after that. And not after that strange feeling—the feeling that something was wrong. The feeling that Adora was a _threat_ , somehow.

* * *

“Wait,” says Glimmer. She blinks at Catra like she didn’t hear correctly. “You saw Adora _what_?”

“Sleepwalking,” Catra tells her. “I saw Adora sleepwalking.”

There’s a pause. A long one, as Glimmer attempts to process Catra’s words. One that’s wasted, Catra thinks, since Glimmer continues looking just as bewildered when it’s over—and continues her confusion even as she crafts her next response, her fingers raised in a pair of air-quotes.

“‘ _Sleepwalking’_ as in...walking around while asleep?”

Catra nods. The movement is short, frantic. Brimming with Catra’s impatience. An impatience that only grows with each time Catra is forced to repeat herself.

“But that’s not possible,” says Glimmer, like it’s obvious. And Catra resists growling at the very words.

“I _know_ that,” Catra replies, each syllable prolonged by her frustration. “Which is exactly why I’m telling you about it. And why it freaked me out so much.”

Glimmer raises an eyebrow, and it’s clear by her smirk that she’s at least _somewhat_ amused by Catra’s claims—though Catra doesn’t share the sentiment. Not in the least. There was nothing funny about last night. Nothing funny about the fear that simmered in Catra’s stomach until sunrise finally came—

“Are you sure you didn’t dream it?”

“Positive.”

“But Catra...it’s really _not_ po— _”_

“I know what I saw!”

Catra doesn’t mean for the words to escape as a yell, but that’s what happens nonetheless. She clamps a hand over her mouth. Sure enough, when she glances around, several guards and Bright Moon officials are glaring at her. It’s a bad look, certainly. Yelling at the Queen. And Catra should really know better by now.

“Sorry,” says Catra, now actively choosing to whisper. She clears her throat and leans closer to Glimmer, driven forward by the force of her conviction—and her own need to prevent last night’s events from becoming kingdom-wide knowledge. They’re in the dining room, after all, and people in Bright Moon love to gossip. 

“I couldn’t sleep at all afterward,” Catra continues, and somehow, she manages to drop her voice even lower. “And the memory was still fresh and...well... _terrifying_ , when morning finally did come.”

Glimmer shakes her head. “But if Adora took _Essence of Oblivion,_ she can’t—”

“Move until the potion runs its course? Yeah, I know. Which, again, is _why_ I’m freaked out.”

Glimmer shakes her head and sets down her coffee cup. “I still think you probably dreamed it.”

Catra nearly hisses when she says, “I’m telling you, I _didn’t_ dream it.”

Glimmer makes a placating gesture, but still doesn’t appear wholly convinced. And Catra can’t stand this, she can’t stand being dismissed when she _knows_ exactly what she saw. And she especially can’t stand not knowing what’s happening to Adora.

An exasperated sigh blusters past Catra’s lips.

“Is there...I don’t know. Any chance that _Essence of Oblivion_ has side effects that we don’t know about? Side effects like sleepwalking?”

Glimmer scratches her chin. “I mean, maybe? Potions like _Essence of Oblivion_ aren’t administered very often. Mystacor has a record of it being used maybe like...three times, _total_ , in Etheria’s history?”

Catra raises both eyebrows. “So it _could_ be a side effect?”

With a shrug and sigh, Glimmer replies: “Well...maybe muscles and nerves can keep firing without the mind working to control them? I can’t be sure. That might be more of a science question than a magic question.”

Catra hums. “Maybe we should talk to Entrapta, then. See if she has an idea.”

Glimmer bites her lip, still considering. “ _Or_ maybe I didn’t make that batch strong enough.”

With a head shake, Catra replies, “It didn’t seem like she was having a nightmare.”

“Maybe the potion was still strong enough to ward off nightmares., but not strong enough to keep Adora from sleepwalking? I mean...have you noticed Adora doing this during any of the other nights she took the potion?”

Again, Catra shakes her head. “Not that I saw. But then again, I could have slept through it. It was only by chance that I happened to wake up, and notice what was happening.”

“Well...if she’s actually doing it, it’s definitely _unexpected_ ,” Glimmer says, an eyebrow arching in curiosity. “What was she doing, anyway? You know. While sleepwalking.”

Catra taps her chin, recalling. “She was in our closet, I think. Not sure what she was doing in there—I couldn’t really see. But I saw her walk out and just climb back into bed.”

“Huh. That’s not _too weird_ , at least. I’ll quadruple check tonight’s potion—make sure it follows the brewing instructions exactly. If it doesn’t happen again, we can probably assume it was a fluke with how last night’s potion was made.”

“But…” Catra begins, nervous beyond explanation. “What if it _does_ happen again?”

Glimmer stares at her for a long while, clearly unsure how to respond. Because truly, what can they do? Adora can’t afford to stop taking the potion. Not now. Not now that it’s finally letting her sleep through the night. And besides, is this even worth _stopping_ the potion over? Is there truly any harm in letting Adora sleepwalk, even if it’s an unexpected—and somewhat unsettling—side effect?

“There you are!” a bright voice calls, and Catra’s thoughts utterly dissolve at the words.

Catra turns to see Adora striding into the dining room, smiling broadly. She looks well-rested and beautiful—same as Catra has come to expect, ever since Adora started taking the potion. Her hair curls gently across her shoulders, and her eyes shine in the vibrant sunlight.

And really, with Adora looking like this, it’s a miracle that Catra managed to tear herself from Adora’s side this morning. She only rose early to speak with Glimmer—to figure out what happened last night. Even despite her habitual late mornings, Catra just couldn’t suffer another moment in bed—couldn’t suffer another moment of agonizing over the events of the previous night. 

It’s not long before Adora is standing beside them—still smiling that bright, energetic smile.

“I’m not used to you being up before me,” Adora says—and then, as soon as she’s within reach, she leans to press a kiss into Catra’s cheek. “What was the big hurry?”

“Nothing,” supplies Catra quickly. She doesn’t want to worry Adora—not yet, anyway. The potion is far too important to her, and Catra is _almost definitely_ just overreacting. “Really, I was just hungry. And I couldn’t wait for you to wake up because—”

“Right,” huffs Adora, sliding into the chair beside Catra. She leans her chin on her hand. “Potion wouldn’t let me. Guess that’s the price I pay for a good night’s sleep.”

_God_ , Catra hopes that she’s overreacting.

“We still haven’t finished eating, though,” Glimmer points out, punctuating the words with a quick, conspiratorial glance at Catra. An acknowledgement of what Catra can’t currently express through words—that Adora can’t know about last night. Not yet. “So we’ll still be here a while.”

Adora grins as she unfolds a napkin in her lap, ready to start her breakfast. She waves a hand, trying to flag down a member of the kitchen staff. “What were you two talking about, anyway?”

Glimmer shrugs with far too much force. “Nothing important. Just trying to figure out how to detangle the mess that our old contractors left behind.”

Adora laughs. “So those guys were actually ripping you off, huh?”

“Big time,” says Catra, and slips an arm around Adora’s shoulders. “But don’t worry. I caught them red-handed.”

* * *

After a morning of helping Glimmer interview new contractors, Catra returns to her bedroom to a strange but not-so-unfamiliar sight:

Adora, physically removing items from their walls.

Specifically, Adora is removing a hand-drawn diagram that she affixed to the wall within the last week. A table, large but simple in design. One formed of only two rows (one for Antares and one for Sutera) and two columns (one for the pros and one for the cons).

Such is Adora’s favorite way to sort out difficult decisions. And if Adora is taking down the table, it can only mean one thing.

“Hey,” Adora greets, glancing over her shoulder to shoot Catra a welcoming smile.

Catra returns the greeting, her heart driven to somersaults by the mere sound of Adora’s voice. Never before has Catra heard Adora sound so happy, so carefree. Like there’s nothing but bright days and peaceful nights ahead.

Adora uses her hands to tear the now-dismounted table into smaller fragments, then stuffs those pieces into the wastebin.

“So I just got off a comm with the royal family of Sutera,” Adora continues. Her voice rises _just slightly_ in pitch—the way it always does when she’s preparing to admit something embarrassing. “And I _guess_ there was some sort of misunderstanding when we spoke—”

“Misunderstanding?” echoes Catra.

“Yup,” says Adora. “It seems that, for some reason...they think we already agreed to come. And have also started making preparations for our arrival.”

Catra’s jaw drops. “What?”

Adora scratches at the back of her neck. “I probably mistranslated something, back when I called about _potentially_ visiting. And now they’re really, really, _really—_ ” Adora’s eyes widen comically on the last _‘really’_ , like she’s overwhelmed by the Sutarians’ enthusiasm “—excited for us to come. Though we could still go to Antares if you _really_ wanted to. It’d just probably cause a diplomatic incident of some sort.”

Catra folds her arms. “Seems like we can’t go anywhere without causing some sort of diplomatic incident. ”

“Look on the bright side, Catra.” Adora steps closer and takes both of Catra’s hands, gentling disentangling and uncrossing her arms. Her hands are warm around Catra’s fingers. “At least this makes the choice easy.”

“Easy, sure,” sighs Catra with a shrug and a mock-scowl. “But I have to admit—I was kinda looking forward to being a nuisance on Antares again.”

Adora gives a laugh of her own. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to be a nuisance on Sutera too.”

And Catra watches as Adora keeps laughing. Laughing, freely—in the way that makes a bubble of joy inflate in Catra’s chest—as her hands rise to clasp Catra’s shoulders, her thumbs rubbing slow, tender circles into Catra’s skin.

“But really, Catra,” Adora murmurs. “If you don’t want to go to Sutera, we can figure something else out. I just figured it was simpler to...I don’t know. Go with the flow on this one.”

Catra gapes at her, surprised by this development. Adora has never been the type to go with the flow. She _always_ plans. And sure, maybe Adora doesn’t plan very well (strategy is Catra’s specialty, after all), but she always, _always_ has a plan, no matter how terribly thaat plan goes wrong in the end.

Adora just isn’t...spontaneous. She never has been. And though Catra has never been bothered by that fact, it’s also sort of nice to see this change. To see Adora reduce her white-knuckled grip on the reins, if only by a fraction.

And besides, Catra didn’t have much of a preference between the planets, even before this update from Sutera. She’s more interested in time alone with Adora than anything else. The rest is just noise, just details.

So, with a sigh, Catra nods.

“Well. I thought we’d have more of a choice than this. But I _suppose_ we’ll have just as much fun on Sutera, if we put our minds to it.”

Adora’s smile seems to broaden. “We definitely will. And—”

Catra watches as Adora steps closer to their shared closet—the one there, beside the bed—and clasps both hands around the door handles. With a small flourish, she flings open the closet doors—revealing a pair of suitcases, already unzipped and half-filled with clothes.

Catra’s smile falters as she suddenly recalls last night. She pictures Adora emerging from that same closet, even when the potion should have rendered her immobile. Moving cautiously, almost, toward the bed, and slipping between the covers as though she never left.

Catra wonders if _this_ is why Adora was rummaging in the closet. Was she packing in her sleep, or something of the like? Sleep-packing? Is that even a thing?

But then again...these suitcases look far too organized to be packed by someone largely unconscious. Only Adora—fully awake, perfectionist Adora—could fold a pair of pants that neatly.

“—the good news is that they’re basically ready for us any time,” Adora continues enthusiastically. “I have a ship lined up for us to take too. And Glimmer told me that she’s almost done brewing the vials of potion I need for the road. So really, all we need to do is finish packing, and then we could probably leave by…” She gives a nonchalant shrug. “...tomorrow night.”

“T-tomorrow night?” Catra stammers, eyes pulled wide in surprise. Because truly, _this_ is far more spontaneity than Catra ever thought possible from Adora. “But are you sure you want to leave so soon?”

Adora’s nod is serious and certain. “We haven’t left the planet since...y’know. The incident in the portal. I think it’s about time we went somewhere—saw something new.”

Catra just stares, still too stunned to properly respond.

Adora’s smile shrinks a bit. Not _disappearing_ , exactly, but...growing softer. “I want to move on from all of this stuff, Catra. The fake time travel. The thing with Chasm. The nightmares. And I think a healthy change of scenery will really help.”

She outstretches a hand, reaching for Catra’s. An inviting, awaiting gesture—but not a forceful one.

“But again...if you’re not ready, I’m totally okay to wait. I know this is all pretty sudden.”

It’s easy for Catra to take Adora’s hand, just as she usually does. Entwining their fingers. Tracing the edges of Adora’s palm. They’ve held hands since they were children, after all, and sometimes Catra thinks it feels more natural to hold Adora’s hand than it does to let her own fingers hang by her side, loose and cold and lonely.

But that doesn’t mean Catra is confident in this choice.

Because Adora is right—this decision _is_ sudden, and unexpected, and Catra might not be ready to leave Etheria. Not yet, anyway. And not for the reasons Adora might think.

Catra is frightened. She’s frightened about what happened last night. About what it means, or whether it might happen again. And she’s not so sure it’s a good idea for them to leave the planet before they know more about this _sleepwalking_ thing—

But Adora is standing there, smiling at Catra like nothing could possibly be wrong in the entire universe. And Catra just can’t find the bravery to voice these fears to her, nor the cruelty to tell her _no_ —to deny her this change in scenery she craves, and deserves, so much.

“I’m...not a very fast packer,” Catra mumbles, refusing to meet Adora’s gaze. “So I don’t know if I’ll be ready in time.”

“Oh yeah. I realized that.” Adora gestures to one of the suitcases. The one that presumably belongs to Catra, since Adora definitely doesn’t own enough outfits to fill two large bags. “That’s why I maybe... _sort of_...kinda...started packing for you.”

Catra rolls her eyes. “Of course you did.”

“I can unpack it if you want!” Adora is quick to assure. “But I thought it would be _helpful_ to give you a head start—”

Catra walks over to her suitcase to examine Adora’s progress thus far, and immediately notices something unexpected—a dark red suit, the one from Princess Prom all those years ago, is neatly stacked at the top.

“Seriously?” Catra laughs, and lightly kicks the suit with her toe. “You packed this old thing?”

“Well, sure,” mutters Adora with another shrug, and Catra notes that she sounds oddly defensive about it. “It matches the dress you wanted me to pack. So I thought it made sense.”

“Sure, it matches,” Catra agrees. “But I don’t even think it _fits_ anymore. I mean, it’s been years since I last tried it on.”

Adora’s voice seems to recede in on itself. “Well, it should still fit. Especially considering that I took it to a tailor to make sure—”

Catra turns to gape at her, wildly amused. “You took it to a _tailor_?”

“Just to make sure it would still fit!”

“Wow,” remarks Catra, all smugness as she leans back against the wall of the closet. “You must really like that suit.”

“What?” demands Adora. “Like I said: it _matches_ the dress.”

Catra can only laugh at her. “And since when do _you_ care about things matching? No offense, Adora, but fashion isn’t exactly your strong suit.”

“Fine. You know what?” Adora sets her jaw and again places both hands on her hips. “I admit it. I love that suit. I _love_ it. That suit was basically my sexual awakening, back when you first wore it. And I know you feel the same about that dress from Glimmer’s ceremony, so really, I think it’s only fair—”

Still laughing, Catra surges forward and clamps her hands over Adora’s, using her grip to pull her wife within proper reach of her lips. What results is a slow, hungry kiss—one that Adora quite literally sighs into, the tension from Catra’s teasing practically melting beneath Catra’s touch.

It lasts for some immeasurable quantity of time, that kiss, and only grows hungrier with each passing moment, quickly descending into movements of tongues and hips and hands. Catra barely manages to find enough breath to say, “ _God_ , If I knew the suit worked you up this much, I would’ve worn it a lot more often..”

Adora laughs into her mouth, then moves downward to kiss Catra’s throat. Against the skin of her neck, Adora whispers, “There’s nothing wrong with saving a good thing for a special occasion…”

“And are you sure you want to leave tomorrow?” Catra asks, working furiously to bar all nervousness from her own voice. Which is especially hard to do with Adora’s lips working their magic, forcing all coherent thought to evacuate Catra’s brain—

She feels Adora nod. “Positive.”

“Really, really sure?”

“Catra,” Adora says seriously, pulling away to stare directly into Catra’s eyes. “I’m sure. Really, really sure. I want to go somewhere new with you. And I don’t want to wait.”

* * *

“Aren’t you coming to bed?”

Catra glances back—at Adora, behind herself. Adora is already nestled beneath the covers, staring at Catra expectantly. Her latest bottle of potion is already clutched between her fingers. Even from here, Catra can see the way Adora thumbs over the cork. Ready to pop it open, drink, and _sleep_.

“It’s almost midnight,” Adora adds. “And I’m pretty tired from all that packing.”

Nodding, Catra replies, “I will soon. But...not yet”

Adora only raises an eyebrow.

“I’m a bit too wired to sleep right now,” Catra claims, swaying a bit on her heels. “Thought I’d go for a quick walk.”

“You’re not nervous, are you?” Adora asks, her features softening. “About leaving tomorrow, I mean?”

Catra shakes her head fiercely. “No, I’m not. I’m just...antsy, is all. Not ready to sleep just yet.” Somehow, she musters a playful smile. “As nice as it is to cuddle with you, sometimes I want to stay up a bit later than midnight.”

“Okay,” says Adora, like she understands, and returns the smile. “I’ll probably be asleep when you get back, then.”

Though she doesn’t yet intend to climb into it, Catra walks back toward the bed. She bends herself over it, cupping her hand behind Adora’s head as she leans down, dropping a kiss right between Adora’s eyebrows. Then her nose. Then both her cheeks. Laughing, Adora gives Catra a light shove toward the door.

“Alright, alright,” Adora says. “Go for your walk. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“Promise?” Catra jokes, starting to walk away. Or, at least, she _intends_ for it to be a joke...but as she envisions the events of the previous night, she suddenly wonders whether it will be enough. Will the potion—or the promise—be enough to keep Adora in bed, or will Catra return to the sight of Adora wandering around the bedroom yet again?

“Well, I kinda have to be.” Adora gives the potion a little shake. “Seeing as this will keep me from going anywhere.”

“Right,” says Catra. “That’s how the potion works, after all. No moving after drinking.”

An uneasy pause settles between them. As it progresses, Adora only seems to grow more confused, and Catra, more nervous.

“Seriously, Catra,” Adora urges her, breaking the silence. She makes a shooing motion with her hands. “ _Go_.”

“Got it, got it—” Catra says, and turns back toward the door—striding forward, finally, with the intention to actually leave. “See you in a bit.”

“No I won’t!” calls Adora, in reply. “The potion, remember?”

“Right,” mutters Catra yet again, her teeth gritted only slightly as she turns the corner to leave the room. “The potion.”

Because the truth is...Catra doesn’t really plan to go on a relaxing walk.

* * *

“Hey,” Catra greets, half-whispering into the tracker pad. “Sorry for calling so late. I had some...uh... _sudden_ developments on the whole vacation thing, and turns out we’re leaving tomorrow. So the issue became sort of urgent.”

She glances at her surroundings. Catra doesn’t know why she’s so nervous about being caught. Currently, she sits in an abandoned conference room—one that’s completely dark, save the single lamp. One that Catra lit solely to illuminate her face for the camera.

It’s not like Adora is going to barge through the doors and discover this call. The potion should _technically_ keep her in bed (or that’s at least what Catra hopes). And even if it doesn’t, what could Adora possibly grow angry about? The fact that Catra is _once again_ worried about her well-being, and trying to seek help on her behalf?

But Catra just feels altogether...on edge. Like something is about to go wrong.

She just can’t identify _what_.

“No problem, Catra!” comes Entrapta’s voice from the other line. Through the screen, Catra can see Entrapta’s pink hair waving an eager greeting—and a wide grin spread across Entrapta’s cheeks. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight, anyway. I’m running several simultaneous experiments, and really, I can’t afford to miss a second of observation—”

Catra blinks. “I mean, Entrapta, you _should_ try to get some sleep tonight. Even just a little—”

Entrapta flaps a hand. Or rather...her hair. “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about—though I appreciate the concern. I slept a full twenty-four hours yesterday to prepare. And sure, my circadian rhythm will be a bit disrupted, but we all make sacrifices in the pursuit of science—”

“Uh-huh,” Catra agrees, slowly. “And speaking of circadian rhythms…”

“Oh, right!” Entrapta beams. “You mentioned something about Adora sleepwalking–?”

Catra nods. “So Adora’s taking this magic potion. It’s basically designed to completely silence the brain during sleep. Prevent dreams. A ‘coma in a bottle’ is what Micah called it…”

Something explodes just off-screen, but Entrapta doesn’t so much as flinch. “Right.”

“But the other night...after Adora took the potion...I woke to discover her sleepwalking. Which is supposed to be _impossible_ under the effects of the potion. And so, I need to know how that’s possible.”

“Well, why are you calling me?” Entrapta asks, seeming genuinely confused. “Magic potions aren’t really my area of expertise. Have you asked Glimmer?”

“Of course I have,” replies Catra. “But Glimmer didn’t know. This potion—it’s really rarely used. Which means that they don’t have a good idea of its side effects. So I was hoping I could get your input. You don’t know a lot about magic potions, sure. But you know a lot about science and the brain and all that stuff.”

Entrapta scratches her chin with a strand of hair. “Hmm...well. If this potion really _is_ a ‘coma in a bottle,’ like you described...then sleepwalking should be impossible. That’s why you don’t see many people in comas moving around. In fact, when people are in comas, there’s no sleep-wakefulness cycle or anything of the sort.”

Catra pulls the screen closer. “Sleep-wakefulness cycle?”

Entrapta grins. “Believe it or not, science doesn’t actually _know_ what causes sleepwalking, or dreams. There are theories, of course—and boy, do I have plenty of them! But one thing’s pretty clear. There’s a sleep-wakefulness cycle. Stages of sleep. And it’s in these different stages of sleep that dreams—and sleepwalking—occur.”

“Okay,” Catra says slowly, feeling like, for the first time in her life, she might actually understand one of Entrapta’s explanations.

“Now the real question is whether there’s still a sleep-wakefulness cycle when Adora’s taking this potion. If the potion only targets dreams, it’s possible that she could, maybe, still manage to sleepwalk. But it’s far more likely that potion targets the cycle as a whole—meaning no dreams, no sleepwalking.”

“Alright,” Catra nods. “So how do we know which one the potion targets?”

Entrapta shrugs. “No idea! Like I said, I’m no expert in magic potions. Only science.”

Exasperated, Catra groans and thrusts her face into her hands. “There has to be something. Some way for us to figure this out.”

“Well...I _suppose_ we could do a brain scan on Adora while she’s under the potion’s influence. That might help us identify whether any part of the sleep-wakefulness cycle remains intact.”

“But I don’t have time for that,” Catra sighs, and begins to rub at her own temples. “We’re leaving _tomorrow_. And if this becomes a problem—”

Entrapta gives an empathetic grimace. “Truthfully, Catra, I doubt it’s anything to worry about. Sleepwalking is pretty common, and fairly harmless in most cases. So unless Adora is doing dangerous things like driving vehicles or wandering towards open windows while asleep, I really don’t see this as a reason to cancel your trip.”

Sighing, Catra says. “I know. I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s just…” She makes a sound—some strangled cross between a scoff and a gasp. “I just got a really bad feeling about it, last night. Like it was something dangerous. And not in the sense of _wandering toward_ _windows_ or _driving vehicles_. But like...it was something unnatural, almost.”

Entrapta pauses, considering Catra’s words and nodding.

But then she claps her hands together, causing Catra to jump. “Well, rest assured—sleepwalking is very natural, and really nothing to worry about. I could lend you some additional readings on the subject if you think that’ll help you get more comfortable with the idea. For example, my favorite paper on sleepwalking is ‘ _The Neuro-Mysteries of Somnambulism—_ ”

Catra’s attention on Entrapta’s words rapidly diminishes as she launches into a description of the paper—as well as the paper’s predecessors. And suddenly, Catra wishes she were back in bed, enclosed in Adora’s arms. Because, really, if even _Entrapta_ thinks that Catra is overreacting about this whole sleepwalking thing, she probably is doing just that—overreacting.

Maybe she should just say her goodbyes and head back. Back there, to Adora, and fall asleep looking forward to their impending vacation—

But sound utterly _smashes_ back into focus as Catra hears something. A loud noise from outside—her ears perking in response to it. To that...clattering. A dissonant, metallic impact followed by a heavy sort of thud. A strange sound to hear—especially at such a late hour.

Entrapta is still talking eagerly, now pulling up some sort of diagram that’s far too difficult to read on the small screen. Catra ultimately has no choice but to shush her, ears straining and searching for more. Searching, in particular, for some evidence that such a loud noise is nothing to worry about.

But there’s nothing. Only silence.

For a long while, Entrapta sits there, quiet, as Catra continues staring at the door and listening. Full, long minutes pass before Entrapta hisses, “What’s wrong?”

“Not sure yet,” Catra replies, whispering in turn. She stands soundlessly—refusing to so much as let the chair scrape against the ground. “But I heard something. I’m gonna go investigate.”

Entrapta gasps in giddy excitement. “Oh, I _love_ investigations. Please keep the comm open, I wanna see—”

Catra shakes her head. “Sorry, Entrapta. I’ll call you back.”

Entrapta’s protest is cut off mid-sentence as Catra hangs up the call. The tracker pad continues glowing eerily as Catra abandons it on the table, its radiance casting odd shadows as Catra approaches the door. Her movements are steady, cautious, as she presses her ear against the door itself.

But there’s nothing. Not a sound.

And for some reason, that doesn’t strike Catra as a comfort.

Slowly, Catra presses down on the handle—and releases it just as gradually, working open the door like she’s unwrapping a fragile gift. Somehow, she manages to drag it open without so much as a creak—though she doesn't pull it wide. Not completely, anyway. She merely passes through the smallest crack she can, noiselessly slipping into the hallway beyond.

She expects an empty hallway. Or rather, an empty hallway populated with a guard, as most hallways in the Bright Moon palace are at night.

And that’s exactly what she finds once she exits the room.

But it’s just not how she envisions it. Not at all. Because that guard—the one guarding this hallway—appears to be crumpled on the ground. Face-down, collapsed, with their robes strewn out like broken wings, and their spear fallen to the ground by their side.

And Catra can perfectly imagine it. She can perfectly imagine how the sound she heard was produced—the way the spear clanged shrilly as it fell, producing that dissonant clattering. And the way the guard’s body _thumped_ as it hit the floor.

Catra approaches tentatively, at first.

“Hey!” she calls to the guard. “Are you okay?”

But she knows the guard is not. Anyone could see that, laid upon the floor like they are—

The lack of response is Catra’s invitation to draw closer, and keep drawing closer. “I need some help over here!” Catra calls, frantic, to no one in particular. Hoping, desperately, that some sort of palace doctor will emerge from thin air. “I think this guard is hurt!”

But she hears no one moving—no one coming. It’s like everyone—the entire palace—is fast asleep.

Everyone except Catra.

She sprints, then, to the guard’s side. Falling to her knees beside them, legs squealing across the marble floors. Her hand fumbling and shaking as it travels to their neck, searching for a pulse. She’s relieved to find one—a steady thumping beneath her finger. Meaning that the guard is alive, at least. Just unconscious.

Though lying face-down surely isn’t helping them.

And so, Catra grabs hold of the guard’s shoulders, pushing and _pushing_ them to the side in hope of turning the guard over on the ground. It takes considerable effort—this guard isn’t light, and Catra hasn’t been maintaining her strength with enough care. But eventually, she does it. She pushes over the guard, and rolls them onto their back.

“I could really use some help here!” Catra keeps yelling, hoping that someone will hear.

Catra takes a moment to yank the guard’s uniform out of their face. The long, horse-hair plume. The rumpled robes. And then, finally, in an effort to more fully identify what’s wrong, Catra shimmies the helmet from the guard’s head—revealing the features beneath.

And it’s a normal face. One that Catra has seen before, one that she recognizes, though she can’t recall the guard’s name.

But there’s something _there_ , on the forehead. Something that makes Catra gasp and drop the helmet to the ground, resulting in yet another unholy clatter.

Because there, on the unconscious guard’s forehead...

...is a glowing, red spiral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway! hope you enjoyed the last couple happy but tense chapters! because that's gonna be the last bit of happiness for a while :)
> 
> also please enjoyed this absolutely gorgeous art for this chapter by [@assylamsh](https://twitter.com/assylamsh) on twitter!  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra goes for a run.
> 
> Adora takes a fall.
> 
> And Chasm makes a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all! welcome to chapter 7 of immemorial. prepare for pain and good times.
> 
> I actually had time on Monday to do a colored drawing for this chapter! I'm sorry if it's mediocre I'm trying to get better lol.
> 
> Also y'all should check out [this amazing song](https://twitter.com/ehjcatradora/status/1358632667491803136?s=20) ehj made for this fic! and also you should check out ehj's fics because they're equally amazing. 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy! Remember to leave a comment and/or kudos or else i don't know what the hell is going on.

Catra scrambles backward—sliding, crawling on her palms. Only vaguely does she register herself gasping and screaming herself raw. Hyperventilating, even. She can’t be entirely sure. Her senses have narrowed to that single spiral, glowing so faintly in the dulled lamplight of the hallway. Impossible, but there all the same. Taunting Catra with its hungry, irremovable glowing.

Because it’s _not possible_. It’s not possible for that spiral to be there. For it to be working, for it to have pulled that guard under its spell—

But it’s there. It’s there, unquestioningly so. And Catra doesn’t understand. She beat Chasm. She _beat_ her. Which means Chasm can’t be here, she _can’t_ —

Without another thought, Catra finds herself rising to shaky feet and _running._ Running, furiously, down whatever hallways she can find, turning blindly through forks and bends and corridors.

All throughout her sprints, she sees new details that add to her horror—more bodies sprawled, unconscious, upon the ground. Guards. Groundskeepers. Other members of the palace staff. All of them, lying as though peacefully asleep.

But Catra knows otherwise. Can _see_ otherwise, even as she runs. She can see it on the guards who aren’t wearing their helmets, or the cleaning staff who lie slumped on their backs.

The spiral. Chasm’s spiral. Glowing there, on each of their foreheads—

Has Chasm infected everyone? Everyone in Bright Moon?

Catra is shaking. Shaking, uncontrollably. This is a nightmare, it must be. Because Chasm couldn’t have—she couldn’t have come through the portal. She can’t be here, in Bright Moon. Catra and Angella cast her out of their heads. And Adora—

But she finds herself breathless as another spike of fear skewers through Catra’s spine.

Adora.

If Chasm is here...then that means—

And again, Catra finds herself running. An endless barrage of footsteps carrying her unstoppably forward, toward her own bedroom. The bedroom she shares with Adora.

As she sprints faster, _closer_ , she sees people in the distance. A group of them. Guards, it seems, judging by their outfits—gathered outside of Catra’s bedroom door. They’re not unconscious like the rest, Catra notes with some relief. Which means that Catra’s not entirely alone here, in wakefulness—

Still moving forward, Catra waves a hand. “Hey!” she screams, loud enough that her throat prickles. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re _under attack_!”

The guards turn to her, drawing their weapons at Catra’s words. It’s a frightening thing to hear, Catra is sure, if they haven’t yet noticed the unconscious people strewn all over the castle floors. But they need to know. And so does anyone else who’s still awake.

Catra slows herself, skidding to a stop directly in front of them. They’re guarding the door completely. Blocking it with both their bodies and their weapons.

“I need to get Adora,” Catra says, staring up at the guards pleadingly—even trying to angle herself between them. “Chasm might have—”

But before she can finish her sentence, Catra feels something utterly _smash_ across the side of her face. Something hard as metal, and just as bitingly cold.

Dazed by pain, she has no choice but to stumble backward, and then, when her balance fails her, fall onto her hands and knees. Some mixture of blood and drools dribbles out of her mouth in her shock, and her head throbs in time with her frantic heartbeat.

What...what _hit_ her?

Catra glances up at the guards, tears blurring her vision. One of them has their spear outstretched, almost like…

Almost like she just finished swinging it. Swinging it—at Catra.

“W-what are you—?” Catra slurs, vision still hazy from the impact. Her muscles tremble as she attempts to hoist herself back to her feet, stumbling as she nearly finds footing again—

Only for another guard to move forward and kick Catra in the stomach, knocking Catra right back to the ground.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the guard chides. “No need to get up just yet, Catra.”

And Catra...Catra _knows_ that voice. Its highness. The too-loudness of its every word.

Catra looks up again, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. From beyond the distortion of those teardrops, she thinks she recognizes that guard. The dimpled cheeks. The bright eyes and red hair poking out from the shadows of the helmet.

Cleo.

But there’s something different about her, somehow. She’s standing differently. Taller, almost arrogant. And her voice...her voice is _especially_ different. Maybe not in overall sound, but in intonation. Again, filled with a sort of arrogance that Catra doesn’t recognize.

At least, not from Cleo.

“You know, after all that mental grappling in that netherworld,” Cleo’s voice muses, too-clearly gloating as she circles Catra, her spear still outstretched and ready to strike another blow, “I really expected you Etherians to be some high quality-stock. Smarter, more willful then most.”

Cleo reaches up and tugs her helmet from her head, instead balancing it between her hip and her arm. The face beneath is smiling wickedly, smiling in a way that Catra recognizes—but not from Cleo.

“But this one?” Cleo’s voice continues, gesturing briefly to her own body. “This one’s mind...I broke like a twig. Didn’t even last a day in one of my illusions.”

Catra’s eyes pull wide from where she kneels on the floor.

“C-Chasm—” she stammers, unable to hold enough breath in her lungs to speak louder than a shuddering murmur.

Cleo’s smile broadens. “Hi there, Catra. Been a little while, hasn’t it?”

Chasm. Chasm is here. She’s here, and infected Cleo.

No. Not just infected her. Chasm killed her. She _killed_ Cleo, breaking Cleo’s mind somewhere within one of Chasm’s illusions…

Which allowed Chasm to do this. To take control of Cleo’s body, claiming Cleo as a host. In fact, Chasm is likely in control of _all_ these guards, having broken their minds and replaced them with Chasm’s own dark magic.

And with a sinking horror, Catra realizes that all these Bright Moon guards—the ones standing here, apparently awake—must be dead. _Dead_. With Chasm just pulling the strings on whatever remains.

God, Catra should have known. She should have realized the second Glimmer mentioned the number of guards who failed to show up to work. And she especially should have known when Glimmer mentioned that Cleo was missing. Cleo, the guard with the most direct contact with—

“ _She spreads like a disease._ ”

That’s what Angella said, about Chasm, back in the plane between worlds. And that’s exactly what Chasm did upon arriving here in Etheria. She spread to everyone—everyone within their vicinity.

The door to Catra room’s slides open with a short creak. Catra’s head swivels, watching the threshold with wide, terrified eyes as a figure emerges, smoothly shutting the door behind itself. Striding from the shadows of the bedroom and into the brightness of the lamp-lit hallway.

And of course, Catra recognizes that figure. Recognizes every feature on that face, every curve and angle of that body. She’d know it anywhere. Do anything, and everything, to keep it safe and hold it within her arms—

But there’s also something wrong. It’s moving differently, that figure. Walking differently. And when it moves casually to Cleo’s side, a box clutched in its hands, Catra doesn’t recognize the expression on that face at all.

“Adora—?” Catra gasps.

Blue eyes flash in Catra’s direction, colder than Catra has ever seen them.

“Adora isn’t home at the moment,” replies Adora’s voice—but somehow not. More confident. More cruel.

And now there’s a triumphant smirk spreading across her lips, so foreign upon Adora’s face.

“And I’m afraid she won’t be back for a while.”

* * *

It’s over, Catra thinks in a daze. Really and truly over.

Because Chasm has Adora. Chasm has _killed_ Adora.

And for how long has Chasm been in there, pretending to be Adora? At what point did Adora give up? Because Catra thought...she thought she _saved_ Adora. She thought that Adora refused to sacrifice herself. And then Adora thrust Chasm from her mind, same as Catra and Angella did—

But clearly…

Clearly Catra was _wrong_.

Catra is too horrified, too _shattered,_ to move when Adora—or rather, Chasm—hands off the box to Cleo.

She’s wearing an outfit that Catra has never before seen on Adora. A long-sleeved black shirt and pair of red leggings—something of Catra’s, she thinks. Not that Chasm would care enough to respect which of the clothes in the closet actually belong to Adora.

Chasm hums as she cracks Adora’s knuckles, rolls Adora’s neck, and then approaches Catra with an unfamiliar, predatory grace.

But Catra still can’t do it. She still can’t move. Not even when she sees Adora’s leg pull back, then surge forward again—driving yet another bruising, bone-cracking blow into Catra’s stomach.

Catra screams and falls to the side, gasping for air. Clutching blindly at her stomach and the welt that is surely forming there, in her abdomen.

“It really is wonderful. Living here, in the real world,” comes Adora’s—no, _Chasm’s_ —voice.

Chasm-Adora begins to circle Catra, just as Cleo did. And just as a vulture might too, but with far more hunger and violence in her every movement.

“Last time we fought, you were protected, weren’t you? You knew that the illusion couldn’t hurt you.”

Another kick flies out—this time striking Catra’s ribcage. Catra can do nothing but _shriek_ and curl in on herself, tears streaming from her eyes. At least one of her ribs must have shattered beneath the blow.

“I bet you’re wishing for that illusion now,” mocks Chasm with a high, gloating laugh—one so unlike Adora’s usual laughter, Catra can hardly believe it came from Adora’s mouth. A laugh filled with malice and hate and conceit.

Chasm-Adora squats down just a bit, elbows balancing on her spread knees. She doesn’t drop fully to the floor, only sinks enough to look Catra in the eyes—curled up on the ground as Catra is, gasping for air.

And truly, Chasm must be reveling in this sight. Catra, at Chasm’s feet. Laid low by this beating—and by losing Adora.

_Adora_ , Catra thinks, agony spreading through every particle of Catra’s body. And not just from the broken rib. That broken rib...that’s nothing. A distraction, really, from the true torment at hand.

What’s irreparable is this—this gaping, widening hole in Catra’s chest, beneath the ribcage. The one that Adora occupied, and now never will again. And Catra can’t understand it. She can’t understand how an emptiness can feel worse than an impalement, or an absence worse than a crushing weight—

She remembers speaking to Angella, back in the plane between worlds. Asking what would happen if Chasm succeeded in convincing Adora to sacrifice herself.

“ _Adora’s mind really will perish_ ,” Angella said quietly, nearly whispering. “ _And Chasm will be all that’s left in her place._ ”

Which means Adora really is gone. Somehow, Chasm managed to trick Adora in another illusion—managed to destroy Adora’s mind despite Catra’s best efforts.

Or worse...maybe Chasm _did_ actually succeed during her first attempt to destroy Adora’s mind, and tricked Catra into thinking otherwise.

Horror crushes Catra’s insides more than Chasm’s attacks ever could. When was the last time Catra actually talked to Adora—the real Adora? Did Adora even come back through that portal at all, or was Chasm just pretending that whole time?

And god...what does that even mean? Has Catra been living a lie for months, sharing a bed with a monster wearing Adora’s face?

But there were so many moments...moments where Catra could have _sworn_ it was Adora there, lying beside her—

Pain and confusion swirl within Catra’s mind, paralyzing her. And throughout it all, Chasm simply sits there, staring at Catra. Enjoying the show as Catra struggles to recover her breath.

Though eventually it must grow too boring for her. For Chasm. Because soon enough, Chasm is preparing to stand, humming as she rises to her feet—the movement smooth as silk and not at all _Adora_. She even runs a hand through Adora’s hair as she reaches full height, shaking out the strands like they belong to her, and always have.

And somehow, the image fills Catra with an irrepressible rage. She can’t let Chasm do this. She can’t let Chasm claim any part of Adora. Because if Adora is gone, Catra would rather bury that body herself than let Chasm walk around, pretending that it belongs to her—

“But you see, I’m _done_ with illusions now,” Chasm gloats, nudging Catra’s abused ribs with Adora’s toe.

A sound escapes Catra—some cross between a grunt and growl. One that simmers somewhere in the back of Catra’s throat. Both hands clench into fists at Catra’s sides, the claws slicing into her own skin and drawing pinpricks of blood.

“And now...when I hurt you...” Chasm pulls back her foot yet again, preparing to beat another bruise—or broken bone—into Catra’s side. Her lips—Adora’s lips—spread wide into a sadistic grin. “The damage is very, very real—”

Chasm’s foot hurls out again, but this time Catra is ready. Catra’s hand shoots forward—curling around the ankle before the attack hits its mark, redirecting the momentum to the side.

Chasm gives a surprisingly Adora-like yelp as her foot is pulled out from under her, causing her to be yanked to the ground in a graceless heap. Catra is fast—vicious—as she lunges atop of her. Atop of Chasm, in Adora’s body, pinning her ankles and wrists to the ground.

And Catra is truly a snarling, wild thing—ignorant to the blossoming pain in her own body as she bares her teeth and lifts a clawed hand, prepared to strike down. _Forcing_ herself to strike down. She wills her vision to narrow to the throat, and only the throat, so that she can’t see what was once Adora’s face. So that she can finish this, just as Adora would want her to—

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Chasm warns, still so _frustratingly_ amused. “She’s still in here, you know. Adora.”

Catra freezes—the claw suspended in the air. Her chest heaves as she stares at Chasm in disbelief.

“Try to hurt me, and you’ll only hurt her,” Chasm continues. “And I’ll still walk away, free as anything. Safe and sound in another body.”

Catra stares, unable to process the words. “W-what are you talking about?” 

But it’s too late. There are fingers wrapping around Catra’s arms now, hoisting her to her feet. Pinning her wrists behind her back. The hands of the guards, Catra can only assume, yanking Catra off of Adora’s body. She fights them, of course—screaming, scratching, clawing. But they don’t have much of a reaction to pain.

“Enough of that,” snarls Chasm, using a tone of voice that Catra has never once heard from Adora’s mouth. She watches as Chasm stands and raises Adora’s hand, using it to draw some sort of glowing red rune in the air.

When the rune is complete, Catra feels her hands tugged together, something _burning_ against the skin of her forearms. Gasping in pain, Catra glances down to see some sort of magical cord around her wrists—glowing with the same red light that emanated from the rune itself.

Catra can’t move her hands at all. Not so long as that cord is binding them together. They’re numb, completely numb to feeling and Catra’s attempts to move her fingers.

“That’s better,” Chasm-Adora says with a short laugh. “That cord is unbreakable. Unbreakable, of course, unless I cut it myself.”

Chasm approaches Catra, once again smoothing out Adora’s hair in that way Catra has never, _ever_ seen Adora do. Watching it makes Catra feel vaguely nauseous.

“You know, you really are _so_ frustrating, Catra,” Chasm says, leaning down to Catra’s height as they stand there, face-to-face. “Here I was, planning to strangle you in your sleep tonight. But aren’t you lucky, choosing to go on a walk instead?”

Disgust fills Catra at the very thought. Of lying in bed with Adora, only for it to be Chasm. Chasm, who only wishes to wrap her fingers around Catra’s throat and _squeeze_ —

“Strangle me?” Catra demands. “Why go through the trouble? Why not just knock me out like everyone else?”

Chasm shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. It seems you’re...oddly resistant to my sleeping magic, these days. You and Angella both.”

Blinking, Catra asks, “ _What_?”

Another shrug. “Like I said, it’s quite frustrating. Though I _suppose_ you’ll make a suitable hostage instead.” Chasm gives Catra’s cheek a not-so-comforting pat. “Glimmer is far more likely to cooperate if it’s _you_. And besides, why risk a potential host when I can risk someone useless instead?”

Catra growls deep in her throat.

But Chasm appears anything but frightened. Instead, she shoves Catra forward, making her stumble—but only at first. Catra scrambles to correct her balance, snarling, snapping at Chasm’s hands. But the guards (or rather, their bodies) are quick to react. Pointing their spears at Catra’s back and prodding her forward. Forward, it seems, toward Glimmer’s room.

“Glimmer?” Catra repeats, utterly lost. “If only me and Angella are ‘resistant’ to your magic or whatever...why would you need to convince Glimmer of anything? Shouldn’t she be asleep?”

Chasm just scoffs. And only then, while staring at Adora’s face—so twisted by Chasm’s cruelty—does Catra realize the truth. Catra remembers what Adora told her, back when she showed Catra that book from the library. The symbol that looked like a set of spirals struck through with lines—

“ _I think that this symbol is used to protect people against entities of dark magic,_ ” Adora told Catra. “ _Entities like Chasm_.”

“Adora,” Catra murmurs, stunned that Adora managed to do that—that she managed to piece together the truth from so many scattered pieces of information. “Adora was right. That symbol _is_ some sort of ward against you. And because Glimmer has a Sorcerer’s Guild badge—”

“She’s immune, and therefore, still able to wake,” Chasm admits, rolling her eyes. “It seems that Adora is not _wholly_ brainless when she puts her mind to research.”

Catra smiles triumphantly, so damn _proud_ of her wife—though guilty that she shamed Adora for conducting all that research. If Catra had listened, they might have been able to protect more people—

As they keep walking, Chasm grins and gestures to an unconscious groundskeeper. “Not that being awake will do Glimmer’s kingdom much good.”

And it’s then that Catra realizes. She realizes that Chasm never would have revealed that ward to Catra—never would have willingly discussed her weaknesses with anyone, or anything. Especially not a symbol that could render the Etherian populace immune to Chasm’s possession, since it would’ve directly interfered with this, with Chasm’s plans—

Which means that _couldn’t_ have been her. That could not have been Chasm, talking with Catra in the bedroom that night.

It must have been Adora. Adora, figuring out the truth. Adora, still alive and herself.

Which means that if Chasm did something to break Adora’s mind, it must have been recent. Something within the last few weeks, or maybe even in the last few days—

And Adora really was right the whole time. About the symbol. And about Chasm returning someday—

“But I don’t understand,” says Catra. “What could you possibly want from Glimmer?”

“Hmm,” hums Chasm, tapping at Adora’s chin. “It’s less what I want from Glimmer, and more what I want from Adora.”

“But you already _have_ Adora’s body,” Catra hisses, wishing she could claw out Chasm’s eyes as she says the words. And wishes even more that those eyes _weren’t_ Adora’s perfect, stupidly pretty eyes.

“As much as I wish that were true,” Chasm sighs, “it’s _not_. Not yet anyway. I still need more of the potion.”

“The potion…?” Catra echoes, still not understanding.

And then Catra remembers Adora’s sleepwalking. It should have been impossible for her to do that—to sleepwalk while under the potion’s influence. The potion should have silenced Adora’s mind entirely.

But if Chasm was there, still attached to Adora’s body…

Perhaps Chasm is what remains when the potion is in effect.

“ _Essence of Oblivion_ ,” Catra mutters, now uttering the name like a curse. “That’s how you’re controlling her body. When she takes the potion, it’s basically the same as what you tried to do to her, when you tried to trick her into sacrificing herself—”

“Again, not quite true,” Chasm corrects, treating each of Catra’s realizations like they’re the buzzing of some annoying gnat. “What I do to my victims is quite permanent. The potion, on the other hand, is temporary. Or...at least it is at the dosage Adora takes—”

“But that’s why you gave her all those nightmares,” Catra gasps, hope blooming deep in Catra’s chest. “You couldn’t break her in your dream world, so you did this instead. You tortured her with those dreams until she had no choice but to use the potion—”

“Yes, yes,” Chasm says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m sure this is all groundbreaking information for you.”

“So Adora _is_ still in there,” Catra cries, barely managing to stifle a sob of relief. “She’s still there, and she’s okay—”

“For now,” Chasm says, and Adora’s eyes glint with a malice that Catra has never seen before. “But tell me, Catra—has Glimmer told you what happens when someone takes too much _Essence of Oblivion?_ ”

Catra’s lips press into a thin line. She knows. Dammit, she knows. And now she’s even more frightened about what, exactly, Chasm hopes to confront Glimmer about.

Chasm’s smile grows wider—sharper, sharp as a blade—as she sees the realization dawns on Catra’s face. “The effect becomes permanent.”

“Glimmer won’t make more potion for you,” Catra snarls, writhing within the grip of the guards’ hands. “She’d rather die. When the eight hours are up, you’re finished—”

“Oh, there’s no need to be dramatic,” Chasm says. “She’s already brewed all the potion I need.” She shoots Catra another smirk. “You were, after all, planning to stock up before your vacation.”

“No,” Catra refuses, pulling her wrists against her bindings. “I won’t let you—”

“I’m afraid you won’t have much of a choice,” Chasm remarks, “Seeing as you’re a hostage and all. And neither will Glimmer, if she wants you to live—or to see dear King Bow awake ever again.”

_Bow_ , Catra thinks, terrified. She hadn’t considered Bow. He won’t be protected like Glimmer and Micah are—

“Thanks to all the magic and misery I’ve absorbed from Adora, my attachment to him—and all these Etherians—is quite solid. Unbreakable. Which means there will be no more escapees like you, Catra.”

“And what exactly is the point of all this, Chasm?” Catra demands. “Why do you want Adora’s body so badly?”

Chasm raises one of Adora’s eyebrows. “Isn’t that obvious? I want She-Ra. I want power.”

“And yet here you are,” Catra hisses. “In control of Adora’s body...with no sign of controlling She-Ra at all.”

At that, all amusement fades from Chasm’s features in favor of sneering annoyance. A touchy subject, evidently.

“Yet another thing I will soon control completely,” Chasm says, voice taut with forced calmness, “as soon as I have all the pieces I need.”

“Uh-huh,” mocks Catra, exaggerating her skepticism. “Now you tell _me_ , Chasm...can you still remember the memories you stole from me?”

Chasm scoffs but keeps walking forward. “I don’t forget anything, ever.”

“Well, in that case,” says Catra, stopping in place—causing the guards’ bodies to stop with her, and their spears to prod at her back. It’s not long before Chasm—or really, Chasm within Adora’s body—is a considerable distance ahead. “You should remember that I’m a _terrible_ hostage.”

The guards keep prodding but Catra doesn’t move, even despite the slight pain of the spears boring into her skin.

“Keep moving, Catra,” Chasm-Adora grits out, waving her forward. “I won’t hesitate to kill you if you prove too—”

And that’s when Catra _charges_. Charges, directly forward, yelling as she does so. She’s too fast for the guards—too fast for most people, really, as she surges toward Chasm, right in front of her, using the distance between their bodies to build a sizable momentum—

_Sorry_ , _Adora_ , Catra thinks desperately. _You’ll thank me for this later._

And then she’s crashing into Adora’s body, knocking her to the floor. Chasm screams in frustration, writhing beneath Catra’s weight—but not before Catra manages to wrap her bound arms around Adora’s shoulders, comforted only by the fact that Adora won’t feel this at all—

Chasm’s indignant cries are muffled as Catra covers Adora’s mouth and nose with her paralyzed hands. It helps, even, as Catra’s hands are numbed to the feeling of Chasm’s biting and struggling.

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ , Catra chants in her head, but knocking Adora unconscious is all Catra can think to do, given the circumstances. And since she’d rather not cause Adora head trauma of any kind, her only remaining option is to cut off oxygen flow long enough for Adora to pass out.

Catra sees Chasm trying to raise Adora’s arms, hoping to cast another spell—but Catra, ever-so-flexible, rolls them over and wraps her legs around Adora’s torso, effectively pinning Adora’s arms to her sides. A trick she’s learned in the many sparring sessions she’s shared with Adora over the years, and one that works nearly every time.

The guards within Chasm’s control can’t cast magic against Catra, not like this. Their spells would only hit Adora, buried under Adora’s body like Catra is. So instead, they sprint forward, pointing with their spears. Seeking to stab Catra and free Adora’s body from Catra’s suffocating embrace.

But it’s not enough. It’s not enough time to knock Adora unconscious—the guards have sprinted too close already, their spears raised and poised toward Catra’s body.

There’s no choice. Catra will have to do something else. Something risky.

And so, as one of the guards stabs down, Catra very carefully releases Adora—contorting both their bodies to the side as she lifts her hands, angling them so that the spear tip passes clear through the glowing cord, and then embeds itself in the floor.

They all freeze. Catra. The possessed guards. Chasm, in Adora’s body—sucking in great gulps of air, her eyes wide with outrage.

“Uh oh,” Catra taunts, smirking at Chasm. “Looks like you cut the cord.”

And then Catra yanks the spear from the ground, taking the weapon for herself.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV: Chasm-Adora looking down at you as she kicks your ass
> 
> (also that drawing is the reason for the boob window/no boob window poll on twitter lmao)
> 
> also more amazing art from [@assylamsh](https://twitter.com/assylamsh)!!!!  
>   
> [](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b2bf5a095d79ce3c85a5ca6c2605a5ae/5bdc4bf60e492b9a-52/s1280x1920/1c85c6a5dd913996c87277cd9ae63b839aae699f.png)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra plays a game of hide and seek.
> 
> Chasm starts some fires. 
> 
> And Adora tries a new potion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT FOLKS!! Chapter 8 is here. I hope y'all enjoyed the inherent scariness and sexiness of Chasm-Adora last week. And thanks for over 50 comments, i hope the wait for this chapter wasn't too agonizing lol. 
> 
> I didn't have time to draw any art for this chapter, so if someone else would like to draw art, i would not be opposed 👀
> 
> Anyway! Let's see whether Adora can be saved, shall we?

Catra was doing well, at first. She caught Chasm off guard. She broke free of her restraints. And she snatched a weapon for herself.

And in most fights, that’d be enough to secure Catra’s victory.

But Catra never realized—or really, never experienced firsthand—just _how_ _good_ Chasm is at magic. Magic, not just in the form of illusions. But magic like the sorcerers cast—runes and spells of immense power, the likes of which Catra has never seen before.

And the more bodies Chasm controls...the more power she has. The more spells she can cast simultaneously, using her hosts’ hands to draw as many runes as she needs.

The guards’ hands. _Adora’s_ hands.

The spear isn’t really much help, in the end. Catra only manages to knock out one of the guards—striking the stolen spear across their skull—before the rest of them collect themselves. And with Catra no longer shielded by Adora’s body, Chasm is free to release her full magical fury against Catra.

And boy, is she _furious_.

Each of the guards trace runes in the air. Runes that glow with that same red energy, and transform into various deadly obstacles. Tongues of fire, shards of ice, metal spikes that appear from nowhere at all. Catra can do little but yelp and dodge, trying her best to reach Adora’s body despite the onslaught—hoping to somehow grab hold of her, and trap her until the potion releases Adora from its clutches.

But Chasm knows exactly what Catra wants. As soon as she is released, Chasm scurries Adora’s body behind the other guards—hiding her from Catra’s view, and blocking Catra from any possibility of a rescue. Not with such an unconquerable wall of magic obstructions in Catra’s way.

Chasm continues to fire spells at Catra. Spells that bore holes into the nearby tapestries, or burn scorch marks all along the walls. The hallway where they stand is in utter ruins—the windows shattered and emptied of glass, all paint melted and scratched and chipped away. It’s really a small miracle that Catra has yet to receive more than a few minor burns or cuts.

“Come out, Catra!” Chasm yells, using the voices of the full group of hosts to speak the words in unison. Catra shudders at the eeriness of it—shuddering, in particular, at Adora’s voice, mingling so seamlessly with the others.

Currently, Catra is crouched behind some statue—using it as a shield as Chasm casts another fire spell. A river of pure _inferno_ parts around the stone, and Catra screams at the heat and the light, overwhelmed by its intensity, curling in on herself in her attempts to avoid any stray flames. And Adora...Adora is still far out of reach, and she’s really not sure if she can take much more—

The flames stop. Catra stands there, frozen, catching her breath. Everything has gone unsettlingly silent.

But then Catra _feels_ something touch her ankle.

Catra glances down and shrieks. Because there, curling around Catra’s leg, is some sort of dark tendril—one similar to those Shadow Weaver used to conjure, in her efforts to frighten Catra. And Catra can’t stand it. She can’t stand it touching her. She needs it off—

But just as Catra scrambles to free herself, the tendril tightens, tightens _hard._ Hard enough to bruise. She has no time to act further before the tendril is _yanking_ Catra out from behind the statue—thrusting her into the air while Catra’s joints scream in pain.

Catra yells and thrashes as she hangs there, upside down, the spear falling from her hand with a clatter. Her limbs flail in their helplessness, the grip on her ankle too tight to be broken.

And it feels terrifyingly familiar, finding herself trapped and suspended like this. She recalls a moment years in the past, when she was nearly dropped into the screeching maw of the Heart’s Guardian—a hideous, multi-tongued creature that intended to devour her.

But this is no Guardian. This is Chasm, using dark magic to generate this creature of whirling tendrils, and pull Catra into the open.

From upside-down, Catra can see Adora’s body walking through the group of guards. Her hand is outstretched as she maintains a glowing rune, manipulating the symbol with her fingers—a smirk twisting the corner of her lips with every motion. Chasm is controlling the monster with Adora’s own hands.

And _of course_ Chasm used Adora to cast it. Chasm would never resist the chance to add another layer to Catra’s torture.

Chasm clicks her tongue. Or really, Adora’s tongue.

“An admirable effort,” Chasm remarks, though her tone suggests that she feels otherwise. “But a waste of time.”

Catra keeps thrashing, keeps fighting. “Glimmer will _never_ give you that potion.”

“So what?” Chasm asks. “Do you really think that will stop me?” She tips her head back and laughs. “The potion is a _convenience_ , you stupid girl. If not now, if not _Essence of Oblivion,_ I’ll find some other way to gain control. There’s no way out of this. For you, or Adora.”

Catra opens her mouth, prepared to snarl some other insult—but she can’t come up with one. Not with so much blood rushing to her head, or so much panic stiffening her muscles and freezing her thoughts.

“And now...” Chasm continues. “Now I think that you’re simply not worth the trouble—”

The guard to Adora’s right starts casting a new spell—one that Catra has come to recognize as a fire rune. The same rune Catra has dodged so many times in the last several minutes, but won’t be able to dodge this time. Not like this.

Catra gives one last thrash against the tendril holding her, but knows there’s no real hope in escaping. More likely than not, that guard is going to barbecue Catra on the spot—

“Goodbye, Catra,” says Chasm, in Adora’s voice. And Catra can’t stand it, she really can’t. She shuts her eyes, not wanting to see Adora like this—

Catra expects to be burned alive.

What she doesn’t expect is to _drop_ , suddenly, the tendril inexplicably releasing Catra’s ankle so that she falls to the floor. And it’s a graceless fall—one that has Catra rolling and gasping as the air is knocked from her lungs, a fiery heat blazing somewhere above as the spell is directed to the space that Catra no longer occupies.

Something...something must have cut through that _thing_ , that tendril—

“Catra!” a voice yells. One that she recognizes to be Micah.

Catra opens her eyes—only to have them blinded just as immediately by a bright pink light. Light that fades, revealing Glimmer kneeling at Catra’s side—dressed in her pajamas. Catra doesn’t even have time to exclaim Glimmer’s name before Glimmer clasps hands around her shoulders, enveloping Catra in that same pink light as they’re both teleported away.

Catra isn’t teleported far—just to the next corner, where she and Glimmer are concealed behind a wall.

Catra is still breathing heavily when she notices that Angella is there too, clad in a robe but otherwise wide awake.

_Immune_ , Catra thinks. Angella is immune, somehow, just like Catra—even without a Sorcerer’s Guild badge to protect her.

“We heard all the noise,” Angella says. “And when we exited our rooms to discover everyone asleep, we knew—”

From beyond the wall, Catra hears the explosive noises of magic meeting magic—fire meeting water, ice meeting fire, metal meeting stone. Evidently, Micah is on the other side trying to fend off Chasm by himself. But even he cannot ward off so many magic-casting bodies at once—

“Somebody tell me what’s happening!” Glimmer demands, frantic, her hands still squeezing Catra’s shoulders. “Why is everyone asleep? Why wouldn’t Bow wake up? And _how_ _the hell_ is Adora casting spells?”

There’s a pause. Catra’s lip trembles, her whole body still shaking from what just occurred. She was mere seconds from disintegrating within that inferno—

Angella drops to her knees in front of Catra.

“That’s not Adora, is it?” Angella asks softly, features tense with dread.

Catra manages to shake her head. “It’s Chasm,” she says. “Chasm’s controlling her body.”

A pause as Angella’s eyes widen. And then—

“How?”

“The potion—” Catra explains, the words becoming half-jumbled as she struggles to string them together. “Chasm was still attached to her. And the potion...It’s...basically clearing the way for her, for Chasm. And until Adora wakes up—”

“So she’s still alive, in there?” Angella asks, with some relief. “Adora is alright?”

This time, Catra nods. “But she won’t be for long,” Catra says. “Not unless we trap Adora here. The guards...they’re _gone_ , but we might still be able to save Adora. We _need_ to save Adora—”

Angella sets her jaw, eyes sparkling with determination, then turns to Glimmer. “We need to help your father,” Angella says stiffly, and begins walking toward the corner, prepared to turn it—

“Wait!” calls Glimmer, reaching for Angella’s arm and holding tight. “I don’t understand. How is Chasm doing this? How did she gain control of Adora?”

“There’s no time to explain fully,” Angella says. “Not yet. But what you need to know is this: Adora is possessed by Chasm. And if we fail to capture her, we might lose her forever.”

“And what about Bow?” Glimmer demands, whole face twisted in terror. “What about the others?”

“Bow should be fine, for now,” Catra assures her, finally finding her voice. Her proper voice. Because _god_ , if there’s anyone who knows how Glimmer feels right now, it’s Catra. “He’s fine, and so is everyone else sleeping under Chasm’s spell. But the guards in there—” She jerks her head in their direction. “They’re goners.”

“Then what do we do?” asks Glimmer. “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but we need some sort of plan. I don’t really know what we’re dealing with—”

“Chasm is _really, really_ good at magic,” Catra says. “Better than anyone I’ve ever seen. Better than Micah—better than maybe any sorcerer in the whole universe.” She smirks at Glimmer. “But she doesn’t have power like yours.”

“So...teleporting?” Glimmer says.

Catra smirks. “Teleporting.”

* * *

Angella and Catra emerge from their hiding place. Directly in front of them is Micah, struggling to maintain some sort of stone wall produced by a magic rune. He’s groaning, one eye scrunched shut in concentration, his every limb shaking with the strain of the spell.

And it’s no wonder why. Catra can hear some sort of _roar_ on the other side, like something is seeking to drill past the wall. There’s even a small group of cracks on the surface of the stone. Fissuring, and growing wider.

Chasm, making her way through. Inevitable as ever.

“Can’t...hold this…” Micah grunts, glancing at Catra and Angella from the corner of his open eye, “...much longer…”

“Don’t worry,” Catra says. “Your daughter is on it.”

And then, on cue, a bright pink light positively _glares_ from the other side of the wall—flashing through the cracks with such intensity that Catra must temporarily avert her eyes. The roaring ceases. She hears a cry of frustration, and a triumphant grunt of Glimmer’s—

“Drop the wall!” Catra orders, and from the corner of her eye, she can see Angella getting to work—sitting on the floor as she completes the task Catra asked of her.

Micah does as requested. The wall dissipates into thin air, and Micah collapses to his knees—gulping great breaths of air as he seeks to recover his strength.

With the wall gone, Catra can finally see what’s happening on the other side. The group of possessed bodies—Adora included—are clutching at their eyes. Blinking, frantically, as they attempt to see despite the temporarily blinding effects of that bright light.

Glimmer is teleporting between them, her staff materialized in her hands. She smacks it across the heads of two of the guards, hard enough to send them sprawling to the ground with the loud clang of metal on metal, thereby leaving only two guards—and Adora—remaining.

But mentally, Catra urges Glimmer not to waste her time.

“ _First, you need to get Adora_ ,” Catra told Glimmer, just mere moments ago. “ _That’s the priority._ ”

“ _And then…?_ ” Glimmer asked.

“ _Once she’s out of commission, it’s just a matter of picking off the rest.”_ Catra looked down and sighed. “ _Do what you need to them. Chasm killed them already—they won’t feel anything else._ ”

And finally, Glimmer approaches Adora—letting her staff disintegrate again as she turns. She outstretches her arms toward Adora’s shoulders, prepared to grab hold so she can teleport away—

But even with failing vision, Chasm senses Glimmer coming. Chasm-Adora utterly _shrieks_ her outrage, refusing to be captured. She throws up her hands, frantically tracing a rune in the air.

Glimmer must recognize what rune it is, because she retreats—teleporting from sight. And not a second too soon. A circle of fire _explodes_ into being around Adora, a violent protective measure to keep Adora from being touched.

“Micah!” Catra calls, urgently. She points to Adora and makes a flowing gesture with her hands. “Water!”

And somehow, he seems to understand—nodding quickly and staggering to his feet with a wavering, “On it!”

His fingers tremble as they trace another rune, but it’s enough. From the symbol springs a jet of water—one powerful enough to shoot across the hallway and douse the flames, as well as knock Chasm-Adora off her feet, a garbled scream ripping from Chasm’s throat as it makes contact.

Micah groans as he generates a few more streams of water, each of them directed at the guards who are slowly regaining their senses. They, too, are knocked off their feet—buying Glimmer just a little more time to pull Adora from Chasm’s clutches.

“Glimmer!” Catra cries, knowing that this opportunity won’t last much longer—and hoping, desperately, that Glimmer will hear her.

And she does. Catra watches as Glimmer teleports directly _on top_ of Adora, landing so suddenly and violently that Chasm can do nothing but exhale sharply. Glimmer’s hands are ready for any further attempts to cast spells, perfectly placed to wrap around Adora’s wrists and hold them steady.

“Sorry, Adora,” Catra hears Glimmer mutter—evidently enjoying her fight with Adora as little as Catra did.

And then, with another flash of light and a scream of Chasm’s outrage, Glimmer is teleporting herself—and Adora—away.

“Angella?” Catra calls, glancing at the former queen—who is still seated on the ground, staring determinedly at the floor. She sees Angella give a short nod without shifting her gaze, so Catra can only assume that she’s ready—

And then Glimmer is teleporting into the space directly in front of Angella—but only for a split-second. She releases Adora, but doesn’t let herself hit the ground. Instead, she teleports herself to the spot beside Catra.

Leaving Adora to fall, alone, onto the ground.

Or rather... onto the entrapment rune that Angella drew in that spot. One that activates a cylinder of impenetrable magic all around Adora’s body, rendering escape impossible.

It’s a spell the princesses have used many times in the past. It was used against Shadow Weaver, once upon a time. Then Double Trouble. Then several other random prisoners, once Catra joined Adora in Bright Moon.

And now, against Chasm.

Chasm-Adora shoots up immediately, yelling in frustration and banging her fists against the walls that surround her. She glances down at her feet, scowling, then directs her glare to Angella—sitting just outside the magic boundary.

“ _We’ll need someone to cast a spell to trap Adora_ ,” Catra told Glimmer. “ _A good one. Chasm will do anything to escape_.”

“ _I can do that,_ ” Angella offered, interrupting. “ _I’ve been working on my rune-casting since we returned. I can do this._ ”

And now, Angella smirks at her handiwork. The entrapment spell completed, and executed perfectly.

“My magic has really improved since we last saw each other,” Angella says, just a tiny bit gloating—her eyebrow raised in a challenge. “Wouldn’t you agree, Chasm?”

Chasm merely snarls and pounds against the wall.

“Uh, guys?” comes Micah’s voice. “We’re not finished yet.”

Glimmer and Catra turn, only to see what remains of the possessed guards standing upright—what used to be Cleo, box still in hand, and one of the other younger guards. Their hands are raised, perfectly poised to cast more destructive spells.

Glimmer immediately sprints forward, standing at her father’s side. Both of them, ready to cast any necessary counterspell to fend off Chasm’s attacks—

But ultimately, no attacks come. Instead, when the guards finish tracing their runes, pure and impenetrable _darkness_ engulfs the guard’s end of the hallway—cutting off all view of what they’re doing, or where they are.

“No!” Catra gasps, staggering forward—but Angella catches her arm, holding her back. “Wait—”

But it’s too late. By the time Glimmer and Micah fire off a light spell to cut through the darkness, there’s nothing left. The guards—all of them, even the unconscious ones—are gone. Just an empty floor left in their wake.

There’s a thump from behind Catra, followed by a gasp from Angella. One that sends pure ice plunging down Catra’s spine.

Quickly, Catra spins around, her muscles coiled—prepared for some sort of attack from behind.

But there’s nothing, no one to fight.

That sound—it was just Adora. Adora, falling to the floor, her legs collapsed and body sprawled. Eyes shut tight, her chest rising and falling in deep sleep. Dropped to the ground like a puppet with her strings cut.

“Chasm must have relinquished her control,” Angella says, looking at Catra with a stunned sort of relief. “She must know that it’s over.”

“But it’s not over,” Catra says, voice wavering. She wants to cry. To sob, to go to Adora and pull her into her arms, utterly relieved that she saved her, and just as horrified that she _didn’t_. She didn’t save Adora enough, not nearly. Not yet. She didn’t save her back there, in the dreamworld. And she didn’t save Adora now.

“As long as the potion is in Adora’s system, we have to keep Adora in there,” Catra says, voice raw from all her recent yelling. “Chasm could take back control at any time—meaning that this could just be a trick to get us to release her. As for the others—”

She turns back to the other end of the hallway, now empty.

“They’re trying to escape,” Catra mutters to herself. And then, louder, to the others— “We need to catch them. Kill them, even, if that’s what we have to do. The guards are gone. And the more their bodies travel, the more people Chasm will infect.”

Glimmer nods. “I’ll teleport through the hallways—”

Catra grabs Glimmer’s arm. “No. The rest of us will search. First, go find the extra vials of Essence of Oblivion you made.”

Glimmer blinks. “Why?”

“That’s what she planned to use to kill Adora,” Catra says. “And she still might try.”

Glimmer swallows hard. “And what...what do I do with it?”

“Burn it,” Catra says. “All of it. Throw it into the nearest fire.” Her eyes find Adora, still unconscious on the floor. “We’re not letting that stuff near Adora again.”

* * *

Adora wakes sore beyond belief.

Even with her eyes still closed, she can feel fresh bruises all along her back, her sides, her knees. And god...what is she lying on? Certainly not a bed, with that rigid surface—and that smooth, almost stonelike coldness. Coldness that puckers Adora’s skin into goosebumps.

Adora normally wakes curled in bed—curled with Catra—warm and comfortable _without_ mysterious injuries peppering her body. Not like this. Not crushed against...is this some sort of _marble_?

Where the hell is she?

Uneasiness and pain grind her teeth together as she slowly, _slowly_ , opens her eyes.

She groans as light floods her vision. And when her vision _does_ fully return to her—blurred colors and shapes forming into distinct images—she’s greeted by a truly bizarre sight.

It seems that Adora is, in fact, laid out upon the floor. Specifically, the marble floor of a palace hallway. Surrounding her on all sides is a transparent layer of pale magic, glowing dimly. It imbues everything in the surrounding room in cool blue, making even the rays of sunlight spearing through the windows look more blue than gold.

Shattered windows, Adora realizes with a jolt. Every window in the hallway is shattered—the glass strewn in jagged shards across the ground.

Adora lightly kicks her heel against the magic that surrounds her. Her foot bounces, unable to pass through. It’s solid, that wall, and Adora is trapped—though _why_ she is trapped remains a mystery.

And when Adora looks down—observing the entrapment rune she’s seen sorcerers cast several times in the past—she realizes just how trapped she is. 

With another glance up and beyond the wall, Adora spots several figures kneeled or cross-legged on the ground. Micah and Angella, it appears—their heads in their hands. Bodies slumped in exhaustion.

And Catra. Who is upright, and awake, and watching.

Adora can only stare at Catra in horror. At the bruise that has nearly swollen Catra’s eye shut. Or the burns and cuts along her arms.

“She’s awake,” murmurs Catra, placing her hand upon the surface of the magical wall directly in front of Adora. “Eight o’clock. Same as usual.”

At that, the rest of the group rouses themselves—raises their heads to stare. Adora returns the stare, though with far more bewilderment. Her breath quickens to a panicked pace.

“What...what happened?” Adora asks. “What am I doing here?”

Angella rises to her feet and approaches. She, too, outstretches a hand to place on the surface of the magical prison. Though unlike Catra, when Angella makes contact, the magic walls dissolve into nothing—righting the room back into its usual colors and freeing Adora from its confines.

Not that Adora moves. Not at all. She is too disoriented, too confused—

“Adora—” says Micah, also scrambling to his feet. He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small vial—one identical to the vials Glimmer uses to store Adora’s _Essence of Oblivion._ though it’s filled with an unfamiliar liquid. Something different, something clear as water.

Some other potion, she assumes?

“I need you to drink this right now.”

“What is it?” Adora asks, squinting as sunlight bounces off the vial, stabbing directly into her eyes.

“There’s no time to explain,” Micah says. “Just trust me.”

Adora glances at Catra, who nods encouragingly. And then, without further questions, Adora outstretches her hand. Micah pops off the cork as he hands the bottle to her, making it easy for Adora to simply tip back her head and drink.

She gags. It’s so bitter, she nearly spews it out. But with everyone watching, she fights the urge.

Once she swallows, she sits there, breathing heavily. Waiting for that terrible flavor to leave her mouth. There are tears in her eyes when she looks back up at Micah, questioning. “What was that?” She glances around, at all the terrible destruction—and leans forward to touch the purple bruise discoloring the skin beneath Catra’s fur. “And what happened? And wha—”

She gasps, unable to move further forward. The pain in her back is too much to bear, too much to fight against. She has no choice but to stifle a whimper and rescind her hand, leaning back down on the floor.

“W-what happened to me?” Adora manages, near-begging for an explanation.

Catra, Micah, and Angella share a glance. A nervous one. One that makes Adora’s stomach turn from where she sits.

And, then, finally, Catra looks back at her.

“Chasm,” Catra says with a sigh. “It was Chasm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sure adora is gonna have a good time with this information!!!
> 
> anyway please remember to tell me what u think by either commenting or dropping a kudos!!
> 
> MORE AMAZING ART FROM [assylamsh](https://twitter.com/assylamsh)!!!  
> [](https://64.media.tumblr.com/c564688838cc7b4c80de566f2282e4a2/bab66d8e73267300-47/s1280x1920/f4421ab15de686598bd7aa132133c6d501017509.png)[](https://64.media.tumblr.com/8a8342f9a0e0f6532e0fe5bf7de116c5/bab66d8e73267300-14/s1280x1920/a3fa77b8dbe99489366e98b55d828fef66d2c80b.png)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora learns the truth.
> 
> Someone cries on the bathroom floor. 
> 
> Adora and Catra make a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well!!! shit's really hitting the fan, huh?? the good news is that im almost done writing immemorial, so I'm hoping it'll be uh...29 chapters? 30 chapters? idk yet, but hopefully something close to that. Sorry for how long it's gonna take for post it all lmao.
> 
> anyway, also gonna plug more incredible music but the amazingly talented ehj!! she made a newer version of [oblivion](https://youtu.be/xRKsVswBtvA) (a song inspired by this fic from adora's pov) and another [untitled song](https://twitter.com/ehjcatradora/status/1365511174838759425?s=20) from catra's pov. Go check those out, but also check out her awesome [enemies with benefits](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350606/chapters/69461499) fic!!!
> 
> also i did not have time to make art for this chapter because my group project for school continues to be a disaster. pray for me.

As they explain what happened, Adora cannot move.

She cannot speak. She cannot think. She can only sit there, numb to everything except the feeling of some molten, frigid thing being poured into her veins, into her stomach, her ribcage. Something that freezes and scalds all at once, leaving her with no organs save a brittle spine, on the verge of shattering.

Throughout it all, a chant starts in Adora’s mind. Mindless, and repetitive.

_What have I done?_

“We didn’t catch her,” Micah says. “She left behind two of her possessed guards to slow us down, and, well...it worked. While we were fighting, the rest—three of them—escaped. Cleo, Drew, and Blake. Or their bodies, anyway.”

_What have I done?_

“They took our ship,” Catra adds, in a quiet, shaking sort of voice. “Meaning that they’ll have lots of supplies for any intergalactic journey they want.”

The ship. The one Catra and Adora are supposed to be taking today, to Sutera. Packed full of food and water and whatever else they were going to need for their several day-journey.

And god, the thought of that vacation seems like an absurd dream. Especially now, with Adora trapped in this waking nightmare. Perhaps it was lucky, even, that Chasm chose to attack last night—lest Adora infect yet another innocent planet with Chasm’s nightmares.

_What have I done?_

“G-Glimmer and Bow?” Adora manages to ask. Her stomach utterly _roils_ with nausea as she poses the question—bile rising high into her throat, scorching it with foul-tasting acridity.

And truly, she feels sick. Faint. Skin crawling, head buzzing—like her whole body has emptied and refilled by flies and maggots.

And that’s all she is now, isn’t she? The host of some horrific parasite. Chasm’s gateway into this dimension, _infected_ as Adora was and still is—

“Bow is under her spell,” Micah says with a sigh. “Glimmer is with him right now. She’s awake—and was crucial in rescuing you, even. But for now, she wants to stay by his side.”

Adora can only gulp down more bile.

_What have I done?_

“And they’re all like that, aren’t they?” Adora demands, and truly, her voice feels too massive for her own throat, it is so inflamed and thick with tears. “Everyone in Bright Moon. Everyone I’ve so much as _walked past_ is infected with her—”

“Not everyone,” Catra says calmly. “The sorcerers should all be safe. Angella and I are...immune, somehow. And Micah says he has a way of breaking the spell for a lot of Chasm’s victims.”

Adora’s eyes snap to Micah’s face, her brows raised in hopeful pleading. And truly, such a thing is Adora’s only hope. Her only hope to get Chasm _out_ , out of her head, out of her body—

“Well, what is it?” Adora pleads. “If there’s a way to break the spell, we need to—”

Micah shoots Catra a pointed glare. “Catra misspoke—or misheard me. We don’t yet know of any _real_ way to break the spell. At least, not in the way you want. We can’t break the connection to Chasm once it’s fully formed.”

Adora thrashes her head from side to side, on the verge of an explosion of tears and screaming that she can hardly restrain. “Then what—”

“What I can do,” Micah says, “is temporarily limit her effects. She can only affect her victims when they’re asleep. That’s what her spell is, really. A very strong sleeping rune. Not as strong as _Essence of Oblivion,_ but still powerful. A powerful sleeping rune combined with equally powerful illusions.”

Adora clutches at her elbows, vaguely aware that she cannot stop shaking. “Then—what—is—there?” she hisses, teeth gritted. “What can I do? Please—”

A pause, as Micah stares at her. And it’s clear by his pinched features that he fears for her. Pities her, even. “You already did it,” Micah says. “All things in magic have their opposites. Good and evil. Chaos and order.” He gestures to Adora. “Even She-Ra and Chasm represent opposites, of sorts. And so...most potions have their opposites too.”

He kneels in front of Adora, picking the vial she emptied off the floor. “The potion you just drank is called _Essence of Eternity_ ,” Micah says. “It is the sister potion of _Essence of Oblivion_ , and just as powerful. But—”

“It shall keep you awake, rather than make you sleep,” Angella completes for him. “We know better now, about _Essence of Oblivion_. But a problem still remains. We fear that, so long as Chasm is attached to you—or anyone else, really...she can still use her illusions and sleep spells against you at any time. Worse, she could siphon magic from you—”

Adora’s eyes widen. Anticipating her panic, Angella softens her voice and holds out her hands in a placating gesture.

“Please understand that she won’t get full control of your body—not like last night. She’d need _Essence of Oblivion_ to do that, or a victory in crushing her victim’s will. But...her magic can still render you as comatose as you were there, in the plane between worlds...when you were suffering beneath her illusion”

“You’d be left defenseless,” Micah continues. “And vulnerable to her illusions—or a siphoning spell—just as before. But she can’t control the body of someone who’s fully conscious, nor can she access She-Ra’s magic without your permission while you’re fully awake, and able to deny her. So really, the solution is to keep her from casting a successful sleep spell. And the only way to do that is to use this potion—” He raises the vial again. “ _Essence of Eternity_. The only potion capable of preventing sleep entirely, even under the effect of the most powerful sleep spells. Even if Chasm did manage to sneak you _Essence of Oblivion_...taking this potion would cancel out the effects of both potions. It is that powerful.”

Angella nods. “We’ve contacted the other sorcerers, and we think we can brew a sufficient quantity to wake most of the populace up. She can still feed off people’s misery...but other than that, she’ll have no real effect on them.”

“But if I’m drinking this potion…” Adora murmurs, staring determinedly at the floor as the tears come, inevitable. “If any of us are drinking this potion...then…”

“There’s no sleep,” Catra whispers back, barely loud enough for everyone to hear. “No sleep, at all. Chasm-caused or natural or otherwise.”

There’s a pause as the news sinks—or really _stabs_ —it’s way into Adora’s mind.

“It’s not sustainable,” Micah says, sighing yet again. “Not at all. But it will work as a temporary solution, until we find some way to defeat her. Defeat Chasm.”

“Well, you don’t feel tired, right? When you take the potion?” Adora asks, desperate for some good news. She even manages some sort of deranged, trembling laugh—one that bubbles from her throat entirely without her permission. “Because honestly, if that’s the case, I probably should’ve been taking this stuff a long time ago—”

Micah shakes his head. “It does nothing except keep the drinker awake. You’ll feel just as tired. Just as exhausted. But no matter what you do...you will not sleep. That is its purpose.”

Adora stares at him, then at the vial clutched in his hand. She’s frozen again now. All traces of laughter gone. “So that’s it, huh?” Adora whispers, her lips trembling so uncontrollably that she can hardly speak. “There’s no way to get rid of Chasm, no way to get her _out_ of me, and now I can’t even sleep if I try, and neither can anyone else—”

“Adora,” Catra says, leaning forward to touch Adora’s shoulder.

“Don’t _touch_ me!” Adora shrieks, frantically scooting away, out of reach. Because Adora can’t stop looking at that, either. The bruise on Catra’s face. It never would have happened if it wasn’t for Adora. Adora is poison now, pure poison, and she’s destroyed this kingdom she worked so hard to save, and hurt the people she’s sworn to protect—

And god, she feels...she feels _disgusting_. She really can’t escape it—this buzzing, this crawling of her nerves. It’s like she can sense the vibrations of Chasm’s laughter reverberating in her skull. Taunting her. Ripping out whatever remains of Adora’s sanity. Working to crush Adora’s mind and insert herself in its place.

Catra presses her lips together but doesn’t say anything else—only backs away, carefully retracting her fingers.

“I-I _don’t_ understand,” Adora gasps, pulling her knees to her chest. Sobs begin to tear their way from her throat. “You and Angella. You’re fine. You’re _immune_ , even. But I’m not. She’s still in here. I never got rid of her and I still can’t—”

“Adora,” says Angella gently. “It’s not your fault.”

Adora just shakes her head and scoffs at that, that obvious lie. Of course it’s Adora’s fault. There’s no one else to blame.

“Chasm was still weak when Catra and I discovered her illusion, and forced her out of our heads,” Angella explains. “By the time you realized, that simply wasn’t the case anymore. She had stolen too much power. Stolen power from you, especially.”

Micah nods. “And sometimes that’s the nature of magic. Sometimes, when a spell is shattered so completely, it cannot be recast. There is magic in every person. Magic that can adapt—grow stronger, resistant. Strong enough to fight off powers that it _knows_ to be a threat.”

“But not me,” murmurs Adora, refusing to look at any of them. “I wasn’t strong enough. I’m still not.”

Sighing, Micah pleads, “Adora—”

“I wasn’t strong enough,” Adora repeats, more forcefully. “I wasn’t strong enough to wake from Chasm’s spell on my own. Not when I should have. And whatever magic is inside of me—it’s not strong enough to break her control. And it’s not strong enough to protect anyone. Not my wife or my friends or myself or—”

Adora presses a shaking hand into her own forehead, gasping for air. Catra is saying her name again, Adora can hear it, vaguely. But she can’t. She can’t answer. And she can’t be comforted because it’s the last thing she wants. She wants someone to scream at her for being so foolish, she wants fury to validate her own outrage with herself. And they just won’t do it. They won’t give it to her—

Wordlessly, she staggers to her feet—determined to ignore the screaming pain in her muscles and that gentle call of her own name. She can’t stay here. She can’t stay here, drowning in the gazes of the people she failed.

And so she runs. Stumbles, really, down the hallways, fast but not quite fast enough. Tears fly out behind her as she goes. And there are bodies, in her periphery, the whole way there. Unconscious people who were rendered that way because of Chasm—because of Adora.

Because Adora isn’t—and never has been—strong enough.

* * *

For a long time, Adora is left alone—just as she wants to be. She goes to her bedroom, the only private place she can think of.

Or really, the only private place where she cannot infect any more innocent people. She cannot go to the library, her usual escape. After all, what if George and Lance return and—

But wait. Bow visited George and Lance at their dig only a few weeks ago. Adora infected Bow, which means that Bow probably infected them in turn. Spreading Chasm to their minds. Meaning that even _they_ aren’t safe, somewhere across the world. Adora managed to ruin their lives from thousands of miles away.

Adora also can’t travel to Razz’s shack, not without infecting—

But then, with a suffocating horror, Adora realizes that Razz is likely infected too. She had far too much contact with Adora. All those visits and tea dates...and Adora didn’t realize. She didn’t realize just how dangerous her own presence was, and now, poor Razz is likely trapped in one of Chasm’s torturous illusions—

Adora has ruined everything. Everything, and everyone. Every safe place she has, every person she loves. There is nowhere to go, nowhere safe. She can only stay exactly where she is. Here, where she cannot cause any more damage.

And still, Adora hates being here too. She hates being in her bedroom. Her bedroom, where Melog is asleep—same as all the rest. Infected, because of Adora, and unable to be roused from their slumber. Curled up on the bed as that horrible spiral symbol glows atop their forehead.

Adora sobs at the sight of them and staggers to the bathroom, locking the door behind herself. She leans her back against it—against the door—and allows herself to slide down, down, _down_ to the bathroom floor, where the granite cools her skin. Where she can make herself small, and pretend she’s not a threat to every living thing she encounters.

She tucks her knees beneath her chin and attempts—struggles—to breathe. It’s difficult. To breathe, to inhale and exhale without some sort of sob forcing the air from her lungs. It’s even more difficult to forget that Chasm is here, somewhere. Somewhere in Adora’s mind. Irremovable and unconquerable as the fear that crushes Adora down here, toward the ground, and maybe lower still.

Adora doesn’t know what time it is when she hears a soft knocking at the bathroom door. She has not moved in hours, and there’s no window here, in the bathroom. She can only guess that the sun has likely set by now, day giving way to night—and bringing Catra with it.

Adora doesn’t reply. She doesn’t want to speak. Where can she even begin if she tried—

“Adora,” comes Catra’s voice, from the other side. “I know you’re in there.”

Again, Adora refuses to answer.

“Can you let me in please?” Catra asks with another gentle knock.

Nothing. Adora says nothing. She doesn’t want to respond, doesn’t want to stand, doesn’t want to do anything except sit here and hopefully, _disappear_ before she wreaks any more damage—

“Adora,” Catra begs. “I need to pee. Seriously, can you just unlock the door?”

A pause.

“Are you seriously going to make me walk all the way downstairs to take a shit, Adora?” Catra says, and Adora can almost picture Catra standing out there, beyond the door. Her arms crossed and her foot tapping impatiently. “I might not make it. And really, I will never live it down if I end up shitting my pants—”

Adora rolls her eyes. Obviously, she doesn’t want _that_. But Adora is still grumbling and annoyed and halfway crying when she scoots over to the wall besides the door. Her arm stretches upward, reaching for the lock and flicking it open with a thumb.

Catra must hear the click. Because slowly, the door creaks open, revealing Catra grasping the handle just beyond. Adora only shoots Catra a glance before affixing her eyes to the floor, so sure and embarrassed is she of her own appearance. Surely, she must look like a wreck. Still dressed in whatever stupid outfit Chasm put her in. Cheeks streaked with tears. Shoulders shaking and arms coiled tight around her knees.

“I’ll go. Let you do your business,” Adora says with a sniff, and begins shifting—intending to stand.

But she doesn’t get the chance. Not before Catra sits down beside her there, on the floor. Shutting the door behind herself and leaning against it.

“No need,” Catra says, scooting backwards as Adora watches her warily. Her head dips back, balanced on the smooth wood. “I kinda lied about the ‘needing to shit’ thing. Sorry.”

Adora meets her eyes, but only to shoot her an indignant look.

“What?” Catra demands. “I knew it would get you to open the door, okay?” And then, more quietly, she mumbles, “Even if I had to humiliate myself in the process.”

And Adora can’t really help it—the small ripple of laughter that pulses through her chest. It’s not unwelcome, exactly, just...strange. Adora didn’t really intend or expect to laugh at the moment. But she also can’t believe Catra threatened to _poop her pants_ to convince Adora to open the door.

“That was childish,” Adora says, though she doesn’t really mean it. She speaks the words into her own knees—the words muffled by the fabric of her pants.

Catra shrugs and scoots a few inches closer to Adora. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I just...wanted to join the party.”

“Party?” repeats Adora with a scoff.

“Yeah,” says Catra. “The crying on the bathroom floor party. I figure we’re both entitled to it, at this point.”

And again, Catra scoots closer—mere millimeters separating their bodies now. Catra whole attention is devoted to staring at Adora. Staring, like she wants to reach out. Staring, until she asks, “Do you still not want me to touch you?”

Adora makes a noise—some cross between another scoff and another sob. “Why the hell would you want to?” Adora demands. “Knowing that _she’s_ in here, somewhere. Probably watching us as we speak.”

“Because I don’t care,” Catra says. “I mean...obviously, I _care_. I want her gone too. But she’s not going to stop me from touching you, or holding you, if that’s what you want me to do.”

Adora sits there for several moments, silent.

“And it _is_ what I want to do,” Catra adds. “I want to hold you, same as always. I love you no matter what.”

Adora tilts her head up, finally. “Even if I’m responsible for all of this?” she asks. “Everyone who got infected, pulled under Chasm’s spell—”

Catra squints. “What do you mean?”

“I should’ve never come back,” Adora breathes. “I was stupid to think she was really gone. I should’ve known, I saw her smirk. Felt the way she pulled all that magic from me. I should’ve stayed behind, in the portal—even if I wasn’t sure. That way, I wouldn’t have hurt anyone. She would’ve infected me, and no one else.”

Catra listens, lets the words hang—her expression impassive. And maybe that’s the agreement Adora needs. The acknowledgement of Adora’s failure that Adora wants so badly—

“Do you really want to play the blame game, Adora?” Catra replies, terse. Voice emptied of softness. “Because I can do that too. I’m just as responsible as you are, if not more.”

“Come on, Catra,” Adora scoffs. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Oh yeah?” Catra challenges. “Fine. Here we go. Let’s go back to the war, shall we? When I pulled the switch that opened that portal. The first one. The one that trapped Angella. If I hadn’t been so stupid—so selfish and hurt—Angella never would’ve been trapped. The second portal, never opened. None of us would’ve ever even _met_ Chasm.”

Catra inhales deeply, the breath trembling as it fills her lungs. Adora, meanwhile, can only stare. Stare, because _this_ —blaming Chasm on Catra—has never once crossed Adora’s mind. It’s always been Adora at fault. Adora, the big screw-up. Adora, the fumbling hero. She’s never considered anything otherwise, never even thought about Catra as anything other than one of Chasm’s victims.

And how could she think differently? How could she blame Catra for something that happened so long ago, something that she’s regretted and apologized for a thousand times—

“And thinking that…” Catra continues. “Thinking that _destroys_ me. You’re the person I love most in the whole world, and she’s _hurt_ you. Hurt you in the most unimaginable ways. Over and over again, she’s hurt you, and it’s my fault.”

“She’s hurt you too—” Adora objects, gesturing to the blue-purple contusions that swell all along Catra’s face. “She did this. And she made you relive all those terrible moments in the past—”

“Yeah,” says Catra with a shrug, and looks down at the floor. “That sucked. But watching you suffer is worse, Adora.”

Adora’s brows pull together. “You know I feel the same way when it’s you, Catra. Watching you get hurt...there’s nothing I hate more.”

“Of course I know that,” Catra says, turning her head to look at Adora more directly. And Adora is somewhat surprised to see Catra cracking a smile. “I love you. And you love me. Which is why, even if you told me to do otherwise, I would have dragged you—kicking and screaming—back through that portal with me. I wouldn’t have believed Chasm was still there, infecting you. I wanted so badly for you to be safe—for us both to be safe, and together—I refused to believe she was anything but _gone_.”

And there’s another pause as Adora considers that, too. That if Adora stayedbehind, in that plane between worlds...it would have broken Catra’s heart. Broken Adora’s heart, too. After everything they went through in that dreamworld, they both wanted nothing more than to return home.

But still. Adora shouldn’t have done it. She shouldn’t have risked the safety of so many innocent people—

“You wouldn’t have succeeded,” Adora half-jokes. “In getting me through the portal, I mean.”

Catra raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? Is that what you think?”

Adora nods. “If necessary, I would’ve turned into She-Ra and physically _tossed_ you through the portal to get you to leave me behind.”

Catra laughs. “You should know better than to underestimate me like that. I can still beat you in a fight, when I put my mind to it.”

“One kiss, and your brain short-circuits,” Adora reminds her, biting her lip not to laugh. “That’s all I’d have to do. A kiss, and a throw.”

Catra snorts loudly. “Shut up. You’re just as easily distracted.”

And then they’re both laughing there, on the floor, at the mental image of it. The image of Catra dragging Adora through the portal, bringing her home despite any insistence to stay. Or Adora tossing Catra back to Etheria instead, determined to protect the world.

And it’s strange that they’re laughing at it, Adora thinks. At this impossibly sad thought, this alternate timeline where Adora never made it back. Because she can’t stand it. Adora cannot stand the possibility of staying behind, separated from Catra forever. Even if such a choice would have kept Etheria safe.

And somehow, she’s grateful that it’s not true, even with this chaos raging all around her. She’s grateful to be here. To be home, with Catra.

It’s a horribly selfish thing to think, she knows. But it’s really the only comfort Adora has. And is that really wrong? To be glad that she wasn’t left behind? To be happy that she hadn’t _again_ been forced to play the role of sacrifice?

“But you know what?” Catra asks. “I have enough terrible things to blame myself for. Really, I do.”

“Catra—”

Catra holds up a hand—a plea for Adora to let her finish. And Adora does. She lets her, shutting her mouth to listen.

“And frankly?” Catra continues. “I’m tired of it. I’ve got enough to be sorry for without taking the blame for Chasm’s _bullshit_ on top of it. We didn’t ask her to torment us. We didn’t make her infect everyone in Bright Moon. She did that. She chose to do all of that to us, and I’m not gonna give her the _satisfaction_ of blaming myself for it. Not anymore.”

She extends a hand, reaching for Adora—but not actually touching her without her permission. A flat palm awaiting Adora’s palm atop it.

“I’d much rather focus on kicking her ass all the way back to that prison dimension,” Catra says, eyebrows raised in invitation. “What about you? Think you’re feeling the same?”

She hesitates, at first. Because it’s hard. It’s really hard to let go of it—this fantasy that she might have changed her circumstances. That she could have been better. It makes her feel...in control, somehow. This idea that when things go wrong, it’s by _Adora’s_ hand that they fall.

But Catra is also right. All this misplaced blame…it won’t help them stop Chasm. It won’t heal all the people that Chasm has hurt.

So Adora lifts her hand, and places it within Catra’s—mustering a small smile in response. She curls her fingers, intertwines them with Catra’s, pressing their palms tightly against each other. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

Catra smiles. “I have a plan,” she says, scooting forward even more, somehow. She takes Adora’s other hand in hers. “I’m immune to her, somehow. And so long as you take that potion...she can’t _really_ affect you.”

Adora nods. She wants to help. She wants to do _something—_

“I’m gonna go after her,” Catra says. “We can’t wait for her to break any more minds—can’t let her kill any more innocent people. So I’m gonna go after her, capture one of her existing hosts, and bring them back here. And I thought that maybe...maybe you could vanquish her the same way you did Horde Prime. Erase her with your magic, same as you did for him.”

Adora blinks. “Will that work?”

Catra shrugs, answering, “Dunno. But we can try. I figure if it works for one big bad, it will probably work for two.”

“And are you sure you can do that on your own?” Adora asks. “Micah said she’s really powerful. Able to cast all sorts of magic spells—”

“I’ll be okay,” Catra tells her with a smirk. “I went toe to toe with you, didn’t I? Kicked your butt a whole bunch of times. I think I can handle one lousy dream demon after taking down She-Ra—”

Adora laughs, and gives Catra a nudge—intending it to be playful. But it’s beyond her control, in the end—the pained breath that Catra sucks in as a result, high and gasping. The sound instantly ceases Adora’s laughter. One look at Catra’s face reveals features scrunched up in pain.

“Catra,” Adora whispers, scooting away slightly as Catra wraps an arm around her own side. “W-what did I—”

“It’s nothing,” Catra manages, very clearly swallowing an even greater cry of pain. “Just some bruises—”

Adora shakes her head and, very carefully, reaches out toward the hem of Catra’s shirt. Her fingertips very carefully clutch at fabric, and only that, as she gently lifts the shirt up. Rolling it just below the chest—

Adora clasps a hand over her own mouth. What she discovers there, on the side of Catra’s torso, is a horrible patchwork of dark bruises. Purple, almost black in their darkness, and swollen beyond imagination.

“Oh Catra,” Adora gasps, her fingers hovering over the injury but refusing to touch. “Did I do this?”

Catra bites her lip and shakes her head.

“Catra,” Adora says, more sternly now.

“Alright, fine,” admits Catra with a groan. “Your foot _might have_ broken one of my ribs. But I think it was just one. And obviously, you didn’t actually have a say in the matter.”

“ _Shit_ ,” murmurs Adora. And truly, she’s horrified. Disgusted by the very idea that her foot—or really, any part of Adora’s body—inflicted such a terrible injury against Catra.

And then she’s outstretching another hand, toward Catra’s face. Fingertips barely ghosting over the bruises that swell there too. “And what about this?” Adora asks, tears brimming in her eyes. “Did I do this too?”

Catra shakes her head, but this time Adora senses that it’s honest.

“No,” Catra replies. “That was one of the guards. Clocked me real good, huh?”

Adora swallows hard, muttering, “I’ll say.”

And finally, Adora’s hand comes to rest on Catra’s cheek. The intact one—the one unmarred by such tender bruises. She cups it gently, stroking a thumb over that soft, thin layer of fur.

And then Adora is closing her eyes, summoning her magic from that place deep inside herself. She pictures Catra’s bruises fading, disappearing. The rib setting back into its proper place—

“Don’t—!” Catra exclaims, swatting Adora’s hand away.

Adora opens her eyes, confused. “Why wouldn’t I—?”

But Catra is grabbing both of her wrists, eyes pleading. “It always drains you, when you heal people,” Catra says. “And you’re going to need your strength. Especially if you’re not going to sleep again any time soon—”

But Adora just shakes it off, laughing softly as she again lifts her hand—cupping Catra’s cheek. “And you’re gonna need to be healed if you’re gonna go toe-to-toe with Chasm.”

“Adora—”

“Catra—” she replies, in the same tone. Adora’s eyebrows pull low over her eyes, all features drawn in determination. She draws closer, breath ghosting over Catra’s skin—eyes shutting again in anticipation of the healing magic. “Let me do this, okay? Let me fix this.”

She waits for permission. And then, finally, she feels Catra nod.

And Adora once again reaches deep inside herself, searching for the magic to right all things. The bruises, the burns, the cuts. The broken rib and the black eye. She hears Catra gasp in relief, senses the glow as the magic spreads from Adora’s body into hers.

And yes, it’s tiring. It’s so damn tiring to do this. There is no exhaustion comparable to the one that sets in after Adora successfully heals someone. Not even the exhaustion she experienced in all those weeks awake, tormented by nightmares.

But for Catra, she’ll do it. She’ll do it over and over again, no matter how many times she must. No matter what it takes from her in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i loved writing this chapter, so let me know if you liked it too!
> 
> [@heycatrqdora](https://twitter.com/heycatrqdora/) drew some more gorgeous [sketches](https://twitter.com/heycatrqdora/status/1366019023087964161/photo/1) of scenes from this chapter!  
>   
>   
>   
> 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chasm wastes a perfectly good bottle of water.
> 
> Bow wakes up.
> 
> Adora loses some socks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i've had kinda a shit week. so again, no art of mine to give for this chapter. luckily, [@heycatradora](https://twitter.com/heycatrqdora/) made some lovely [art of last chapter](https://twitter.com/heycatrqdora/status/1366019023087964161)! So definitely go check that out.
> 
> Anyway, if you haven't seen...this fic is now slated to be 30 chapters. I'm writing the last chapter right now. The chapters could be one more/one less depending on edits i make but right now 30 is a solid promise. Yes, I know 30 chapters and 160k words is a lot to read. It's also a lot to write in two months and I'm still not sure how the fic ended up this long but...here we are.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!! And I also hope you stick with me until the fic's completion.

From within the spaceship, Chasm stares out at the stars. It’s been millennia since she last saw stars. Stars, in space. Their soft, twinkling glow. Their sharp, isolated warmth, each one poking small perforations into the cold blanket of night.

She saw nothing back there, in the prison dimension. She had no eyes by which she could see. Only the brief glimpses of stars she stole from Catra and Adora’s memories, after they first stumbled into her path.

However beautiful the sights, she cannot stay here for long. Down there, on Etheria—the very planet that floats just below them—Adora and her friends are scrambling to wake the people who might help them. Help them pursue Chasm, in particular. If given enough time, they might venture into the wide expanse of space, and find Chasm sitting here...waiting for them.

That cannot be allowed to happen. Not yet.

Besides. Chasm knows the place she must travel to.

The problem is...such a place may no longer exist. Or, at least, it may not exist where she last _remembers_ it to exist. Adora’s memories tell her that a great deal has changed since Chasm was shoved into that prison dimension. Countless planets destroyed by that would-be conqueror of the universe, Horde Prime. Horde Prime claimed to Adora that these people were gone, _destroyed_ , or so he believed.

But if Adora is here...and one of them…

Then they must be out there, somewhere. Even if the planet that once housed them is gone. From what Chasm recalls of that world...the people were nothing if not resilient.

She has one of her other bodies—another guard, the one named Drew, she thinks, though it’s hardly relevant anymore—collect a bottle of water from the supplies that Adora and Catra packed, back when they expected to use this ship for vacation travel.

As soon as the bottle is placed within Cleo’s grasp, Chasm pours the contents across the floor. Pours it carefully, into the same spot, so that a reflective puddle of water pools across the ship’s metal floor.

Chasm uses Cleo’s hand to trace a rune across the water. Angling and outstretching Cleo’s finger carefully, as she might not be able to cast the spell twice.

A spell like this...it usually involves a set of particular ingredients. But the magic she has tucked away from She-Ra _should_ be a sufficient substitute, able to power the spell in absence of magic-imbued ingredients—

* * *

Bow is the next person to receive a vial of _Essence of Eternity._

Adora is there, when Micah tips the vial of liquid into Bow’s mouth. Watching, her hand enclosed in Catra’s, as Bow swallows the potion in his sleep. Worried, despite herself, that the potion will not work. That Bow will remain asleep, forever and ever, simply because Chasm deemed it so.

But within a few minutes, Bow is waking. The symbol fades from Bow’s forehead. Fades, like a speck of blood wiped away with a thumb. And relief nearly sends Adora toppling to her knees.

Groggy eyes crack open, and a gaze darts around in startled confusion.

“Whoa,” exhales Bow, upon seeing Glimmer, Catra, Angella, Micah, _and_ Adora all clustered around his bed. “I just had the _weirdest_ dream.”

Glimmer gives a relieved sob and throws her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

Meanwhile, Adora and Catra only exchange a glance. They can imagine what kind of dream it was. A repeat of the past, perhaps. Or maybe Chasm chose to make it more twisted. An alternate reality where things are close to how they truly are, but wrong in some crucial detail—like it was for Adora when she was convinced that Catra had died on Horde Prime’s ship.

They don’t ask, though. They can only hope that it was more pleasant than what they themselves experienced. It’s going to be the last dream Bow has in a while, if the potion works as expected.

And given Bow’s successful rousing...they can only assume it will.

Which doesn’t bode well for Adora’s sleep schedule either. She herself just drank her second dose of the potion—a sufficient quantity to last twenty-four hours, Micah told her, several more than Essence of Oblivion’s meager eight.

 _“Though it’s the same deal as the other potion,_ ” Micah said, as she choked down the clear contents of that vial. “ _Too much at once...and sleep will evade you for the rest of your life. This is the absolute maximum that a person can take at a time.”_

“What’s going on?” Bow asks, still staring, wide-eyed, over Glimmer’s shoulder at the number of people surrounding his bed. His breath is somewhat suffocated from the force of Glimmer’s hug. “What are you...er...all doing in here?”

Adora sighs and reaches for Bow’s hand. Somehow, despite Glimmer’s grip on him, he manages to wriggle one of his arms from her embrace, and place it within Adora’s grasp. She holds it tightly, trying to not cry. Trying, with even more difficulty, to refrain from apologizing frantically for this—for his condition, for Chasm’s spell on him.

 _But that was_ _Chasm_ , Adora reminds herself. _Chasm did this. Not me_.

“We have a lot to explain,” Adora sighs. “And even more to do.”

* * *

“She was sort of just...meandering in space for a while,” Bow says. He presses several buttons on a console, thereby activating a holographic projection at the center of the conference table. One of the nearby star systems. The stars, and there, just outside Etheria’s orbit, a glowing red dot—

Chasm. Or rather, an indication of Chasm’s ship.

After the war with the Horde, Etheria built itself a small fleet of spaceships so that it could open trade with neighboring planets. The kingdom of Bright Moon alone has ten spaceships to claim—a small number, and a precious one.

Which is exactly why Bow and Entrapta outfitted the ships with trackers. Trackers that would tell everyone here on Etheria where each ship is, and where each ship is headed, should the navigational systems be activated.

Entrapta was one of the people present during Adora, Angella, and Catra’s return from that plane between dimensions. So she, like most people, wasn't spared from Chasm’s spell. Few of the princesses were, close with Adora as they all are. And it will take some time to distribute the potion to all of them, as well as to their kingdoms.

Entrapta. Perfuma. Scorpia. Mermista. Frosta. Sea Hawk. All of them, forced under Chasm’s spell. All of them, beyond Adora’s reach until that potion finds its way past their lips.

And what awaits them after that isn’t pretty, either. Sleepless nights. One after the other, until some indefinite moment where Chasm will hopefully be vanquished.

They’re lucky to have Bow awake and well-rested, at least. He is just as capable of operating the ship’s tracking technology in Entrapta’s absence.

“It seems like she was waiting for something,” Bow says, staring at that red dot. “For what, I’m not sure.”

“So wait—is she still in orbit?” Catra asks, leaning forward in her chair. “Because if she is, that’ll make things easy.”

Bow shakes his head. “She was...up until several hours ago. But she set a destination this morning, and quickly took off afterwards.”

The projected diagram changes. The red dot is now moving through space, shooting past various star systems and nebulas and Etheria-knows-what-else.

“Should I even be here?” Adora asks nervously, glancing at Catra from the corner of her eye. “If I know we’re tracking her, she’ll likely know as well.”

“There’s no point. If she has access to my memories, she already knows,” Bow reminds her. “I helped design this system, remember? The good news is that she can’t remove the tracking. Entrapta and I designed it that way. If they disable the tracking, they lose the navigational system. So she’ll have to let us follow her if she wants to go anywhere.”

“But it’s also something to be wary of then,” Angella says. “If she knows pursuit is unavoidable, she will certainly plan a trap for whoever follows her.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Catra mutters.

And still, that prospect frightens Adora—the prospect that Catra plans to battle Chasm without her. Especially after Adora fully viewed and healed Catra’s injuries from last night. Chasm inflicted a lot of damage—and she likely won’t hesitate to do it again.

“She set a course for a planet called Lenaria,” Bow remarks, reading off the screen. “Very far away.”

“What’s on it?” Adora asks.

Bow shakes his head. “As far as I know, nothing. According to our records, it was completely _decimated_ by Horde Prime. There’s no life there at all. And no colonies have sprung up since then.”

“Then why would she be interested in it,” Micah muses “if there’s nothing there of note?”

“Maybe she’s trying to hide?” Glimmer offers. “We did give her a pretty good fight.”

“She still won,” Catra reminds her. “She got away, even if she didn’t get Adora. And really, that’s all she needs to do.”

“There has to be some reason she’s headed there,” Adora says, folding her arms and jerking her head in the direction of the hologram. “Something we’re missing.”

She looks to Catra then, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You said you talked with her, back when…” Adora trails off, gulps, and tries again. “Back when she was in control of my body. Did she give any clues as to where she was headed, once she had the _Essence of Oblivion_?”

“She didn’t give much information about her larger plans,” Catra replies. “Just that she wanted control of She-Ra. But...it was weird. She had control of you, but didn’t seem to be able to transform. And she got seriously ticked off when I mentioned it.”

Glimmer leans forward in her chair. “Ticked off, as in...more than usual? I thought this lady was supposed to be awful all the time.”

Catra shakes her head. “She’s awful, yeah. But Chasm is usually too arrogant to let herself get mad. Only when you say something that really gets under her skin does that veneer start to slip. Like when I kicked her out of my head, back in that dreamworld, and she was actually forced to. She wasn’t strong enough to keep herself attached back then...and in this case, she couldn’t control She-Ra. Not the way she wanted to.”

“Well, I guess there’s some sort of silver lining to this,” mutters Adora. “She wanted She-Ra, but all she got was control over me.”

Catra scratches her chin. “She told me that she’d have control of She-Ra _soon_ , though. ‘ _As soon as I have the pieces I need_.’ That’s what said.”

“What pieces, though?” Angella asks, and Adora doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like the way Micah, Glimmer, and Angella all exchange alarmed glances.

“ _The Essence of Oblivion_?” Adora suggests. “If she got me to drink enough to make the effects permanent, maybe it would’ve given her control of She-Ra—”

Glimmer shakes her head. “That’s not how it works. Drinking too much of that potion will make the effects permanent, yes...but there’s nothing to indicate that a higher dosage will actually change the _effects_ themselves. And if the existing effects of the potion weren’t enough to give Chasm control of She-Ra—

“Then she must have been after something else,” Catra finishes for her. “Something different.”

Adora stares at her hands, contemplating. She doesn’t understand why Chasm would bother trying to control her if She-Ra wasn’t part of the deal. Adora is good in combat, sure. But not good enough for Chasm to confront Glimmer in the hope of getting more _Essence of Oblivion_.

And what other ways would there be for Chasm to gain control of She-Ra, if not that same potion?

“Maybe she didn’t know,” Adora realizes, finally. “She spent months trying to force me to take that potion, even when she had already spread to all of Etheria. And even when I _did_ take it, she didn’t act for so long. She bided her time. Maybe she _expected_ the potion to give her control of She-Ra, but all she got was control of me.”

“Well,” Catra says with a grin in Adora’s direction. “Props to you for wasting the bitch’s time for so long.”

Shrugging, Adora says. “I guess I always assumed that She-Ra just sort of...inhabits me. Lives in my body, alongside me. It’s why I’ve always referred to her as something separate from me. Talking about her like she’s something other than myself.” Adora gestures to her own head, at the thoughts within. “And maybe that’s what Chasm thought too, because of my memories. She thought She-Ra was just something that I had. Something she could take. But maybe...maybe that’s not it at all. Maybe, ever since I shattered the sword, she’s a part of me. Part of my mind, or soul, or whatever. Which means that if I don’t exist in my body, then neither does she.”

Adora smiles, triumphant, despite the circumstances.

“Which means that Chasm will never, ever get her.”

Angella smirks just a bit. “It must have been quite frustrating for her to realize that. To realize that there are better ways in which magical beings can find a place in this world.”

Adora is tempted to return the smile. Tempted...until she sees Catra in her periphery. Catra, whose whole body has gone rigid, and whose eyes have pulled wide.

“Wait,” Catra says, reaching for Adora’s wrist. “You said...after you shattered the sword. What was it like before that—before you started turning into She-Ra like you do now?”

Catra is staring at her. Staring, pleadingly, like this might be the most important piece of information in the whole universe. And that stare alone renews the dread in Adora’s stomach, reclaiming it after that brief respite—that brief relief produced by the knowledge that She-Ra will never belong to Chasm. Gone now, replaced by something equal part menacing and nameless.

“The sword was different,” Adora says slowly. “When I transform now, it comes from a place inside of me. But before...everything came from the sword. My weapons. My transformation. My magic. I needed the sword to do anything. It…”

Adora swallows hard, then finishes—each word more unsteady than the last.

“It controlled her. It controlled She-Ra.”

There’s a pause as everyone stares, silent.

And then, when Catra finally interrupts the silence, Adora is startled by the rasping horror in Catra’s voice. One that Adora has ever heard when Catra has been ill, in the past. Her words slurred and stuttering beneath the tumultuous throes of nausea.

“And where is it now?” Catra manages. “The sword?”

Adora glances around, examining the faces at the table. They’re all staring at her like she has said something awful—like she predicted that the universe will _explode_ tomorrow, with each galaxy careening into shattered stars and fiery smithereens.

But Adora...Adora hasn’t said anything they don’t already know.

“It’s in pieces,” Adora says, after another difficult gulp. And truly, it’s like there’s something there, in Adora’s throat. Something thick and unmoving and _painful_.

“And _where_ are the pieces?” Catra asks, insistent. But in a way that suggests that she doesn’t wish to know at all.

“I…” Adora inhales shakily, too aware of everyone’s eyes, each pupil like a needle boring into her skin. “I kept them. In a box. A box in the closet. Buried, really. I haven’t opened it since the war but I...I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it, but—”

Catra shuts her eyes, her grip on Adora’s wrist nearly tightening enough to bruise. Her voice is taut, barely above a whisper, when she says, “Chasm had a box, when she left.”

Adora stares.

“Something she took from our room,” Catra continues. “And she was rummaging in our closet the night before. I saw her. I...I thought you were sleepwalking. But now…”

No.

_No._

Did Chasm take—?

Did Chasm take the Sword? The original one, the one Adora nearly tore herself apart to break, to _stop_?

The one that nearly forced her to obliterate the universe?

Adora feels something snap inside of her. Some feeble wire of calmness, of hope. Something that drops Adora into some great cavern of terror—one with no discernible end or bottom.

“I-I should’ve…” Adora slumps back in her chair, both palms pressed her temples. “I should’ve _destroyed_ it. Years ago, I should’ve…” She gasps, and her vision is overcome by a glare of tears. “But I kept it. I kept it, and now she has it. God, I don’t know what I was thinking—”

Catra unclenches her hand from Adora’s wrist, instead using it to rub some shaking semblance of a soothing circle into Adora’s back. “You didn’t know,” she murmurs, again trying to shift the blame from Adora’s shoulders. But god...how is Adora supposed to remain blameless for this? This complete and utter lapse in judgment—

“Before we jump to conclusions,” Micah interrupts, “We should make sure it’s really gone. And if it is…”

“So that’s what she’s going to do?” Glimmer asks, horrified. “She’s going to rebuild the First Ones’ sword? The one that nearly _destroyed_ the universe?”

“She doesn’t have another option,” Angella replies grimly. “Except what she has been told to work, in the past. And from Adora’s memories, she must have discovered this last contingency—”

“Well, you could shatter it again, right?” Bow says, forcing a smile in Adora’s direction. “I mean, You did it once—”

“Only because Light Hope helped me,” murmurs Adora. “She let go of her control just long enough for me to break the sword. And Chasm…” Adora shakes her head. “She won’t do the same. Control is all she wants. She’d never give me that chance.”

And even with Light Hope’s help, it was difficult. Difficult beyond description, beyond imagination. Adora has already relived that moment recently, thanks to Chasm’s illusions. Relived the immense, impossible struggle of thrusting that sword down. _Down_ , despite how the First Ones’ programming compelled it up, into the air, the energy swelling in the runestone and pulsing in anticipation of its own destructive power, burning the blood from Adora’s veins—

She can’t do it again. She can’t.

And truly, there’s no comfort she can provide—no assurance she can offer. She can do nothing except watch Bow’s smile fade into horror. The same horror that is mirrored on every other face in the room.

Catra grunts and scrapes her claws into the table. “Then there must be something there, on Lenaria,” Catra says, glancing at the screen. “Something that she thinks will help her build the sword anew. Something that we need to keep her from getting.”

Adora shuts her eyes and drops her head into her hands. “Because that will be it,” Adora says numbly. “She’ll get exactly what she wants. She-Ra, as her weapon. She-Ra, forced to destroy whatever Chasm pleases.”

* * *

Adora doesn’t curse very often. It’s an occasional thing, really. Something Catra has only witnessed during Adora’s most intense outbursts of rage. For instance—when someone (other than Glimmer) refers to Catra as _Horde Scum_. Or when some intergalactic diplomat makes a much-unwanted pass at Adora. Or during the previous night, when Adora attended to Catra’s remarkably gruesome injuries.

But really, nothing could have prepared Catra for the utter _barrage_ of curses that erupt from Adora’s mouth, just as Catra returns to the bedroom. She sputters every known curse in the Etherian language, and even adds a few swears from the various alien dialects she’s taught herself over the years.

It’s easy to follow the bellowing trail of curses to the closet. The closet, where Adora stands amidst the aftermath of a typhoon. Or, at least, that’s what it looks like. Every box and knickknack and bin has been utterly upended and dumped upon the floor.

The result of the search for the sword, Catra can only assume.

Adora is still cursing when Catra approaches. Catra holds her tongue, poising quietly against the frame of the closet door as she observes. What’s strange is that Adora doesn’t really appear to be searching anymore. In fact, she seems to be tearing clothes off long-untouched hangers, or pulling old shoes from strange crevices.

It takes several moments for Adora to notice her. When her eyes finally pass over Catra’s figure—quickly, at first, without any real awareness, followed by a snappish, startled return—she yelps loudly and drops the clothes piled in her arms.

“Catra!” she gasps, clutching at her chest. Her tone quickly grows stern. “Don’t do that! You scared me.”

“Sorry,” says Catra. “Didn’t want to interrupt. You seemed pretty...y’know. Focused.” She crosses her arms and jerks her head toward their mess of a closet. “I take it you didn’t find the sword, huh?”

Adora presses her lips tightly together as she shakes her head, evidently swallowing some sort of sob—or perhaps another stream of curses. “No,” she grits out. “I didn’t. I found nothing but _junk_.”

In her rage, Adora kicks a cardboard box, resulting in its toppling and the spilling of its contents. A collection of She-Ra toys, evidently. One that some planet had decided to produce and give to Adora as a gift, for some reason. Not that Adora had much use for them.

“Yeah,” says Catra, eyes the spilled toys with some disdain. “We really should’ve cleared this thing out more often.”

Adora merely shakes her head at the mess and recollects the dropped clothes from the floor. And it’s strange, Catra thinks, that Adora is leaving so much of the mess as it is, and only focusing on clearing a select few items.

Catra sighs. “Why did you keep that sword, anyway?”

And she can tell that Adora does not like the question by the way she freezes in place, whole body gone still—barely shifting to even breathe.

“I mean...it’s not like it worked anymore,” Catra continues, even though she knows she probably shouldn’t. “And I know you don’t exactly have good memories of the damn thing. So why keep it? Why not melt it down into nothing, just like we did with the Horde’s junk?”

Long moments drag past before Adora so much as moves, let alone speaks.

“I don’t know,” Adora says, finally, with a small shrug. “I’m sentimental, I guess.”

Catra just hums. She’s not convinced by that explanation—not in the least. Adora is sentimental, sure, but only about certain things. Like keeping their wedding clothes neatly packaged in the closet. But like Catra said...it’s not like Adora keeps much from her days in the Horde.

So she doesn’t understand why Adora would keep something that caused her so much pain.

Adora returns to her rummaging. Though this time, Catra notices that she’s shoving the clothes into a small duffel bag.

“Wait a minute,” Catra grumbles, and pushes herself off the doorframe. She places herself directly in front of Adora, hands on her own hips. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m packing,” Adora informs her, with a pointed thrust of a t-shirt into the duffel bag.

Catra grits her teeth. “If you are, it better be for a _logical_ reason, like wanting a divorce. And not—”

“I’m coming with you,” says Adora, like it’s non-negotiable, and shoves yet another shirt into the bag.

Catra shakes her head like it’s absolutely out of the question. “Adora—”

“Why do you think I’ve been cursing so much?” Adora demands. “I mean...on top of all the other shitty things she did, she _also_ stole all our half-decent clothes!”

“ _Adora—_ ”

“We should’ve never loaded our suitcases onto the ship,” Adora continues furiously. “Because now we’re probably _never_ going to see that suit again, let alone any of my favorite socks—”

“Are you seriously hung up on that suit right now?” Catra hisses, reaching for Adora’s shoulders and holding them tightly. She looks Adora directly in the eyes when she says, “Adora—you’re not coming. We agreed that I’d go after her, and bring her back here for you to deal with.”

“Well, I changed my mind.”

Catra’s nostrils flare. “Why?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense!” fumes Adora. “Especially now that we know she’s heading to a vacant planet, which means I won’t run the risk of infecting anyone if I go—”

“What do you mean, _it doesn’t make sense_?” Catra demands. “It makes a lot more sense than what you’re planning, what with you needing to take _Essence of Eternity_ every day just to keep from falling back under her spell—”

“That’s exactly why I need to go, Catra!” Adora argues. “With every day I stay awake, the harder it will be for me to summon She-Ra. So if you want me to be able to _vanquish Chasm_ or whatever, we need to capture one of her hosts as soon as possible. And it’ll take half as much time for me to just _go with you_ than drag someone all the way back here.”

Catra searches for a retort—a reason why Adora’s plan is unsound.

But the problem is...it isn’t. It actually makes a lot of sense. It would take less time for Adora to vanquish Chasm as soon as they find her, rather than wait for Catra to return to Etheria with one of Chasm’s hosts. That’s simply a matter of easy mathematics, one that can’t really be disputed.

And Catra _hates_ that.

“Besides,” says Adora. “Chasm is really powerful. Too powerful for you alone, and there’s no one else to go with you. The other princesses are all still asleep, and the sorcerers need to stay here and brew enough potion to wake the rest of the population.”

“Angella could —” Catra begins, but even she knows it’s a weak argument.

Adora scoffs and steps closer to Catra, leaning down as if issuing a challenge. “Angella isn’t combat-trained, and has very limited magical power now that Glimmer’s queen. Face it. You _need_ me. I’m the only one whose magic compares to Chasm’s and you know it. And so does _she_.”

She. Chasm. Because of course Chasm knows that—it’s the very reason why she wants She-Ra under her control.

Adora is staring at Catra expectantly, both eyebrows raised. Like she’s just waiting for Catra to question her, or raise a counterargument.

And it’s stupidly, obnoxiously attractive to see Adora win a debate so completely. But it’s just as frustrating that _Catra_ is the one she’s winning the debate against.

And in the end, Catra really has only one counterargument left to give.

“And what if she wants you to come after her?” Catra says, taking a step forward of her own—her face mere inches from Adora. “What if this is a trap? What if she’s already repaired that sword, huh? What if you’re the last piece she needs and you’re just handing it over to her—?”

“It probably _is_ a trap,” Adora concedes, but looks no less determined. “But if there’s a chance I can beat her before she infects anyone else—or torments more victims into becoming her new hosts...then fine. I’ll take that risk.”

“And what if _I’m_ not willing to take that risk?” Catra counters. “What if I want you here, where it’s safe?”

Adora sighs and reaches for Catra’s hands. A warm and gentle weighing of Catra’s fingers in Adora’s palms.

“She’s coming for me sooner or later, Catra,” Adora murmurs. “I might as well face her on my terms. While I still have some traces of sleep in my system, and full control of She-Ra.”

Catra makes a small sound of protest. A whine, almost, but far more furious. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Adora manages a smile and leans in closer. “I’ll be okay. And with any luck...Chasm will be the one getting hurt.”

“I hope you’re right,” is all Catra can say in response as Adora’s lips draw closer and closer. Closer and closer, until they’re barely parted from Catra’s at all. And it’s hypnotizing, the rhythm of Adora’s breath as it puffs across Catra’s mouth, and Catra wants to taste it more than she can express—

“It’s really annoying,” Adora murmurs, absently. More like she’s talking to herself than to Catra. But even with her eyes half-lidded and her attention fully occupied by the shape of Adora’s lips, rather than the words they form, Catra can’t resist asking anyway.

“What?”

Adora continues hanging there, suspended, over Catra’s lips. Her mouth a stormcloud of heat and mist and _electricity._ “How much I’d rather kiss you than argue with you.”

Catra breathes out a short chuckle. “Yeah. Can’t really argue about that, either.”

The words have hardly left her lips when Adora’s finally descend, sweeping Catra into thunder and rain and wind in the form of mingling, gasping breaths, exchanged between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to comment/kudos if you haven't! It will give me a much-needed dose of serotonin after my shitty week.

**Author's Note:**

> [my catradora playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2xJ0ALXyFYhEngYsafWiy3?si=xZpMNyhIQxWDAkAC5UbKzQ) (songs are organized by the events in the series).  
> [my tumblr](https://catra-adoras.tumblr.com/)  
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/chellethewriter)
> 
> Also—please consider helping a **[BLM-related cause](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/)**


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